Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 180: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

174 desperate move Gaillard’s troops would shoot or cut them down as they came out until they either surrendered or again re- treated into their fortress, which would now be their trap. Within a half-mile of the still invisible entrance to the cafon Fergus spoke a word and Lieutenant Gaillard called a_ halt. Summoning Kroner to his side, he whispered a few hurried, final instructions. A suf- fusion of rose behind the black pinnacles to the east was prophet of the dawn. Kroner and his men deployed, taking Leacock and the impressed enforcements with him. Gaillard, sitting his charger, watched with anxiety the detachment circle away, for the sunrise seemed to be traveling upward with disconcerting rapidity. Not a sound broke the stillness. The mesa lay as silent and motionless, withal colorful, as a painted canvas. Kroner and his company, a gray-blue blur to the west, suddenly wheeled and disappeared among a group of rock “‘islands” a few points north. Presently climbing, either afoot or mounted, they would complete the half-circle and emerge above and behind the cul de sac. In the mean time Ringer, who had been scouting ahead toward the cafion, brought his mount toa quick standstill and himself glanced suspiciously about him. The Gila grunted and drew Gaillard’s attention to the action. Ringer sat still on his pony, his nerves taut, his every sense strained on the alert. He could see nothing to account for the mistrust which had suddenly crawled over him. But—his nostrils twitched like a hound’s nosing scent. Presently Ringer turned his pony’s head and came back toward the company. The Gila, watching him, saw no haste in the’ scout’s pace; yet the Scot knew, even before Ringer cast aside subterfuge and broke into a gallop as he yelled, that his comrade had discovered some trap. Yellow Dog, who had been lying low in the hope that the whites would ride just a little farther into his involving net, saw that alarm was taken and sprang his ambush without more delay. Even before Ringer reached the company, and at his first yell of warning, up from the brush almost within a horse-length of Lieutenant Gaillard rose the straight, tall figure of a brave. His rifle cracked, and a man a little to the officer’s rear received in his throat the ball which Adventure had zipped between Gaillard’s bridle hand and his ribs. At the same instant cactus, brush and rocks seemed to move, and Indian heads rose like a flock of deer taking first alarm. A volley crashed. Four or five riderless horses dashed about the mesa, snorting. Meantime Fergus leveled his ancient rifle at the warrior who had fired the first shot. The Gila’s shot—the second in the Battle of Blind Cafon—dropped him before the smoke had ceased to curl from the savage’s weapon. The cavalry, taken completely by sur- prize, nevertheless stood ground and re- plied with a scattered fire. The fight was on! Fight unexpected and with the odds in favor of the redskins. The lieutenant’s dream of laurels turned to ashes. His heart was filled with a fury of bitterness, as was Ringer’s with a fury of rage that Yellow Dog had counted coup at the scout’s own game. Gaillard glanced wildly about him. His duty to his men was to order retreat; but retreat was impossible. Standing in a circle, breast-high in the brush and pouring in a deadly shower of lead, quite regardless that their own warriors suffered from cross- fire, Yellow Dog’s band, crowing mockingly, completely surrounded the small company, half of which was already on foot, the mounts deliberately shot from under them. Hoarsely Gaillard gave a command, swift execution of which was the only hope of salvage from complete annihilation. The rest of the company promptlv obeved, form- ing a close circle, dismounting and from an equine barricade firing over the saddles at the closing circle of Apaches. After that second shot—the one which had taken vengeance for the trooper’s life— the Gila had dropped from his mule to the ground and taken cover in a clump of bushes. There now he sat deliberately reloading his old weapon. But even as Gaillard and Ringer were consumed with fires of rage and bitterness a great burden of self-reproach hung heavy upon the Scot; a realization of part respon- sibility for this unexpected calamity. Had he held his hand, or had he not left that telltale corpse of Black Kettle, the surprize of the Indians might have been com- plete. CO Ebooks CO