FINDING THE TRAIL.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4794, 11 September 1883, Page 4

FINDING THE TRAIL.

» (American faptr.) Here in the shadow of this grim mountain is a camp oti oavalry— 2oo men in faded and ragged blue uniforms, every face Bunburaed and bronzed, evory sabre and oar bine showing long use, every horse lifting its bead from the grata at short intervals for a swift glance up and down the valley. Hero, at the foot of the mountain, the Apaohe trail, which has been followed for three days, has grown cold. Aye, it has been lost It, is as if the white men had followed a path which suddenly ended at a preoipice. From this point the rod demons took wings, and the oldest trailer is at fault. The men on picket looked up and down the narrow valley with anxious faces. Down the valUy, & mile away, a solitary wild horse paws and prances and utters shrill neighs «f wonderment and alarm. Dp the valloy is a long stretch of green qms, tho earth at level as a floor and no visible sign of life. The pinea and shrubs end rocks on the mountain side might hide ten thousand Indians, but there is not the slightest movement to arouse suspicion. It ia a still, hot day. Not a bird chirps, not a brauoh waves. The eyo of a lynx could detect nothing beyond the erratic inovsinante of the lone wild horse adown the valley and the circular flight of an eagle ea high in air that tho proud bird seemed no larger than a sparrow. For an hour every man and horee has looked for "signs," but nothing has b«en discovered beyond what heß boon de&oribed It ia a l"fii trail. Them is something in it to arouse suspicion as wejl as annoyance. Tjen miles away the^ trait tio &i plain as a country I hifikwayj end tutf Indians had no suspicion of purauifc. Five miles back there were signs of commotion. Here, in the centre of the valley, every footprint suddenly disappears. Look, now! A sergeant with grizziy locks and fighting jaw rides down the valley, followed by five troopers. They are to scout for tho lost trail. Evory man has unslung his carbine, every saddle-girth has been tightened, and every man of the six looks over tho camp aB he ridos out as if he had been told that he was bidding & last farewell to comrades. They ride at n slow gallop. Hdch man casts swift glances slang tho mounside to his right—alocg the mountain side to his left — at the green gtisa under his koree's feet. What's that ! Afar np the elope to the right Gomothing waves to and fro for a moment. Higher up the signal k answered. Aoroes the valley on tho other slope it is answered again. Down tho vaUoy, a full two miles boyond where the wild horso now stands like n fi^uro o? stone, and where tho valley sweeps to tho riejht like the sud-tan turn of a river, the signel is caught and 200 Apaohes, eager, excited and mounted, draw back into tho fringe at the base of the mountain, and wait. Ihe little band gallop straight down upon the lone horse?. Now they aro only half a mild away, and hie breath comes quick and his nostrilß quiver as ho stands and stares at the strango apoctaela. A littlo nearer and his muscles twitch and quivor and his sharppointed ears work ffiater. Only eighty rods now, usi'd with a fiorce snort of alarm and dofitujco he rears up, whirls about like a top, Bnd is off down tho vnlloy li&o an arrow wnt by a strong band. Tho sight, may thrill, but it does not increase the pace of those xt ho follow. Tho men gee the wild borse flsoiriß before thorn, but tho eight; does not hold their eyes more than a recond. To t.ho right —to the left— above them— down tho valley —they are looking for a hoof- print, for b trampled spot, for a broken twig— for a sign hovrovor inuignificant to prove that men havo paßced that way. They find nothing. The oignalo up the mountain-side w.ro visible only for seconds. After the first wild burst of cpeed the 1000 horse looks buck. He seee thut he ib not bciug pushed, and ho recovers courage. Ko no longer runs in a straight, line, but ho cweeps away to tne left— oworves away to the right;, and changes his pftit to a trot. When ho hoars tho shoutß of pnmiit and the louder thump of hocf-beats ho will straighten away acd show t,ho purauers a gait which nothing but a whirlwind can equal. Look ! It is only a quarter of a mile now to the turn in the valloy. Ihe lone horso hne suddonl? stopped to on'ff Mie air. His ears aro pointed straight ahead, hit eyes grow ltvrger and take on a fiijrhtcjieci look, nud he hnlf vfhetle an if ho voxihl goiiop back to Ikosfl who have Beomiufjly }jur«Htrf. Five, oighf, ten secorafs, and with a s/.ort of niarm he brenlrs into ?, terrific run, UiYcs theextremo left of tho vullcy, and rocb tearing out of oisfafc as if followed by lione. "Halt! 11 Ihe grim oergoant soes "fl'goa" in the

actions of the horse. Every trooper ie looking ahead and to the right. The green valley rung into the friDge, the fringe ioto dense thicket, the thicket into rook and pine and mountain ■lope. No eje can penetrate that fringe. The Indians may be in ambush there, or the hone may have aeented wolf or grizzly. « Forward 1" No man knows what danger lurks in the f rinse, but the order was to soout beyond the bend. To disobey ia ignominy and disgrace ; to ride forward is: — wait! There is no air stirring in the valley. Every limb and bough is as still as if made oE iron. There is a silence which weighs like ahenvy burden, and the harsh note of hawk or buzzard would be a relief. Here is the bend. Tho valley continues as before— no wider— no narrower— lovol and unbroken. The wild horse wai out of sight long ago, and the six troopers sea nothing but the green grass as their ejes sweep the valley from aide to tide. *< Turn the bend and ride down the valley for a mile or so, and koep your eyes open fro discover any pass leading out." " Halt 1" It is more than a mile beyond the bend. No pass has been ditoovered. No signs of a trail nave been pioked up. The sergeant has raised himeelf up for a long end careful scrutiny, when an exclamation causes him to turn his faoe up the valley. Out from the fringe ride the demons who have been lurking there to .drink blood. Five— ten— twenty— fifty— the line has no end. It stretohee clear across tho valley before a word has been spoken. Then it faces to the right and 100 Indians in war paint faoe the grim old sergeant and his five troopers, " Into line— right dress ! " • It is the sergeant wko whispers the order. Six to 200, but ho will face the danger. To retreat down the valley is to be overtakon one by oce and shot from the saddle or reserved for torture. Down the valley thero is no hope ; up tho valley is the camp and reicue. The two lines face each other for a moment without a movement. " Now, men, one volley— sling oarbineB — draw sabres and oharge ! " A sheet of flame— a roar— a cloud of smoke, and the six horses spring forward. Then there is a grand yell, a rush by every horse and rider, and » whirlpool begins to circle. Sabres flash and olang— arrows whistle—revolvers pop— voices shout and scream, and then the whirlpool oeasei. It is not three minutes sinoe the first oarbine was fired, but the tragody has ended. Every trooper ib down and scalped, half a doiwn. redskins are dead or dying, a dozen horses are struggling or staggering, and turning the bend at a raad gallop is the sergeant's riderless horso. He carries an arrow in his shoulder, and there is blood on tho saddle. In five minutes he will be in camp, and the notes of tbe bugle will prove that the lost trail has been found.