Norton, Andre - Novel 15 by Stand to Horse (v1.0) Read Free Book Online

having done his duty by Bess and dropped his saddle
roll in the place Sturgis had chosen for them, slipped around to see what the
old man was doing.
                   Two steps brought him to a narrow crevice
through which the scout had just squeezed. Boldly Ritchie followed, just in
time to see the flare of a match.
                   "Snug as a pack rat!" Tuttle's voice
sounded hollow.
                   They were both standing in a small pocket of
water-worn rock where queer shadows danced along the walls in ragged pattern.
Tuttle had put fire to a dry bundle of sticks.
                   "Stop right thar!"
                   Ritchie stopped. Tuttle went down on one knee
beside some charred ends of wood. He poked at them with a cautious finger,
bending over to sniff at the dust which arose from his probing.
                   "Injun." He
sat back on his heels and began to give the walls a second and more searching
examination.
                   "How do you know?" demanded Ritchie.
                   Tuttle indicated the blackened ends.
"Fire was built Injun style. See—a white man builds his fire with sticks
burnin' in the middle. The ends fall off 'n ain't burnt. Injuns—they ain't so
careless 'n more savin'. They start a fire on the ends laid in a circle touchin'.
As the wood burns, they push it in 'til it's all gone. 'N this here buck wanted
to sleep warm. Built him a fire las' niglit, got the rock good 'n hot, then
raked them coals out 'n rolled up in their place with what was left of the
blaze to toast his toes. He weren't no young buck out
on his furst warpath."
                   ''What are you looking for now?"
                   Tuttle was on his feet again circling the
cave, studying each bit of rock.
                   ''Trail signs. This
ought t'be a regular stoppin' place fer them red devils. Ha!" He picked up
a small brand from his tiny fire and held it close to the wall. Ritchie could
see only a series of crooked scratches.
                   "Sonny, yo' git yoreself back 'n bring
the Sergeant here pronto. Velasco too, if he has come
in!"
                   Ritchie obeyed. And he did find the second
scout dropping off his pony just as he went to call Herndon. Not only the scout
and the Sergeant but Gilmore, also, pushed in to join Tuttle. Since no one of
them noticed Ritchie, he dared to lurk behind and listen.
                   Velasco crossed the rock pocket with his
noiseless stride and half crouched, almost rubbing the rock with his nose as he
squinted at the scratches.
                   “Fresh?" Gilmore asked the first
question.
                   Velasco grunted. Herndon touched one of the
upper ones with the tips of his ungloved fingers. He nodded at the Lieutenant.
                   The scout sat back on his heels and took out
one of the long brown cigarrillos the Mexicans smoked. Over its length he
grinned.
                   "I think, Lieutenant," he said softly,
"that in one day, maybe two, we shall have some ver' surprised Apaches,
ver' surprised!"
                   "Is that a giveaway?" Gilmore
pointed to the scratches.
                  Velasco nodded. "Ver'
much the giveaway. They have done what they always do, attacked and then
slipped away in many small parties. One party we have followed. But I think
that they were left to fool us, lead us into the mountains and
then—poof!"—he made a little gesture with his cigarrillo—'they are gone
like smoke! If we are fools, they watch us be fools and then will come another
ambush. If we are not fools—too great fools—we shall only be lost and mad and
ver' hungry before we get back to the post again. This, you understand, is how
they plan. But this"—he pounded his fist on the cave wall—"this is
what they do not plan for us. This tells plain for those who