The Nearest Duty.

Te Aroha News, Volume VIII, Issue 490, 19 July 1890, Page 3

The Nearest Duty.

A STORY. By Patience Stapleton. Author of ‘ Kady,’ Etc. There was very little afternoon in Paradox Valley in the San Juan country in Colorado, and ne'er twilight. A high mountain range walled it in, and only the glow of sunset could be seen over the castled crags, not the long waves of cloud and colour that shine across the level plains. The valley, approached by a winding trail, ran five miles between high walls, then ended abruptly against San Miguel peak, a great bald mountain where there were terrible avalanches in winter and always a crest of . shining snow like the hoary head of an old man. There were only three settlers and their families in the valley, which received its curious name from the fact that its streams ran across instead of lengthwise as in most valleys. One July afternoon in 1876 a broncho came loping down the crooked trail that .led to a little town thirty miles away. The broncho’s rider, a bronzed, bright-eved lad of 14, looked eagerly about him as lie trotted his steed along the grassy road at the end of the descent. Once in a while he fixed his heavy saddle-bags or whistled cheerily to keep up his spirits. The first ranch in the valley stood back behind some trees, so that he could see it from the road, but when he. had gone on two miles further without seeing a sign of any living thing he began to look uneasy. «The first time I over rode through here without seeing some of the stock,’ he muttered. As he turned a bend in the road and began to climb a hill he noticed a strong odour of fire, wood and woollen burning that grow moro apparent a§ he drew near Silas Warren’s cabin. This old man, a bachelor and pioneer in the region, lived. a hermit life in a cabin a mile from the lad’s home. . The broncho was galloping now, and his rider was peering eagerly ahead where a cloud of blue smoke rose over the trees. «lb can’t be,’ cried the lad, but his eyes grew misty and something choked his words. Where the neat cabin and outbuildings had been were only black ruins, the house a heap ot black ashes. The cattle had been all driven away, and a squawking hen on a tree was the only living thing about the place. In the soft black mud, where a spring oozed out of the ground, were many prints of small unshod hoofs. . ‘ Apaches’ mustangs '.’ cried the lad, with white lips. ‘ Oh, my mother and Nell!’ He rode on at a mad gallop.through the rustling aspens, each turning its silver leaf lining to the afternoon sunlight that came in long slanting rays through gaps in the gloomy mountain walls. The lad knew now why there were no signs of life in the valley : there had been an Indian raid. For months settlers here and outside had been annoyed by losses of cattle and horses. A band of Apaches off their reservation had been devastating the country. They had a stronghold beyond San Miguel peak, and the settlers had been unable co track them. James Kendall, the lad’s father, had gone down to the military post near Ouray, eighty miles away, to ask government aid in forcing the Indians back to their territory and in making them restore stolen property. ,

‘ The: Apaches knew father was gone,’ thought Harry Kendall as he rode swiftly on; ‘ there was only Silas Warren to guard them. ■ Why did mother send mo-to the store ? I should have been with her even if J. could do so little,’

A volume of dense black smoko swept in his face as he drew out of the grove that separated the Kendall place from Warren's, and he saw a great red tongue of flame leap from the barn roof .towards the log cabin, which, though charred and blackened, was not otherwise injured. Harry jumped from his broncho, threw the rein over a post, and ran into tho house. ‘ Mother ! Nell !’ he called, but he knew there would be no answer, in dreadful fear ho looked into each of the despoiled rooms. At least they were alive; he was sure of that. He knew that the Apaches hated his father, and they would keep his mother a captive for revenge.- f He picked up some quilts and rugs, soaked them in the tub of water by the kitchen door, then climbed a ladder to the low roof, where he spread them over the smoking shingles. The barn, luckily some distance from the house, had burned down to a heap of red, heat-quivering coaie. He threw a number of pails of water around this and then stood a moment to think what to do next. Kis clothing was burnt and blackotied, his hands blistered, and his eyes half blinded by the smoke. _ "T ~ ‘ What shall Ido ?’ he cried miserably ; ' if I go to town for help I’d miss father ; if I go to meet him I may nob take the right road ; it will be three days before he is back. The Newtons haven’t got back from Denver, and Prri afraid Silas Warren is killed. There’s no one to tell my father which way they went. They never have been tracked in the range. Only Apaches can hide so well. What is my duty ? Oh, I can’t stay here and wait; a day means so much ; the trail is fresh now ; they’ll never chink of anyone’s being so near. What was it father read that night ?’

* Do the duty which lies nearest to thee which thou knowest to b 8 a duty. Thy second duty will already have become clearer. ’ .

‘My father says I’m foolishly daring,’ thought the poor lad, ‘ but he’d follow that trail; he knows how they separate and leave false clues when they are pursued. The marks of the cattle are plain now, but a rain will make them almost impossible to trace, or the dry wind will turn the mud into dust in a day.’ He drew in his lips firmly. ‘l’ll do it,’ he cried; ‘it is my nearest duty.’ He went into the house, gathered up some things he would need as little as possible, and t hen he wrote a note.

* Dear Father: The Apaches have been here. I found home like this. Warren’s cabin burnt, and all our cattle gone. I am going to follow them. They have fooled the settlers so often with false trails, but they won't think of anyone’s being so near. I have taken mother’s apron and I will tie strips of it to the trees when I am Bure of their trail. I know Half-breed Joe was here, there’s a queer mark on tho kitchen floor like his crippled foot where he must have come in muddy. I have tried to think of everything, put out the fire and all, and if I am doing wrong in following them I can’t help it. I felt it was my duty. • Harry.

As he wrote his name a Blight sound outside sent the blood away from his heart; he sprang to his feet as the unlatched door began to move gently inward. ‘Who’s there ?’ he cried. A black nose, a pair of shining brown eyes, a shaggy coat ending in a tremendous of a fungia tail, appeared. 1 Doc !’ cried Harry, bursting into tears as the dog leaped upon him, ‘ Doc, you dear, dear old fellow. Where aro they, my mother and her? I was looking for Nell and you to meet mo. She in that little white dress and the sailor hat with the blue ribbons. I can’t realise it, Doc, I can’t.’

The dog answered by a low whine, licking his master’s hand. • Why, your fur s all wet, Doc, it’s blood.’ He brought water and washed a bullet wound in the dog s shoulder. ‘ I know you went with Nell to guard her, and they shot at you.’ Doc thumped his tail on the floor and calmly extended a paw ; it was the only trick lie knew, reserved for great occasions. Harry liberated tho broncho, fed the dpg and then sat down to wait. It was quite dark and a sad sounding wind wailed down the car.on. The high outlines of the mountains loomed black and awful ; only a single star quivering over the San Miguel, gave promise of coming light. Later a great shaft of silver pierced the darkness as the moon rose over tho valley. Then the lad and his four-footed friend went forward into th® mysteries and dangers of the trackloss mountain.

The trail was narrow and indistinct, it moved among timber and great boulders, along precipices or steep descents to the level of a rustling brook. For three weary days the foot-soro and exhausted lad toiled on, scarcely stopping to eat, only sleeping when it was too dark to go on. The way was clear until he reached the path to a little mountain peak that was set like a gem among the hills. He had been there before with his fathor to hunt for lost cattle. He paused here a long time ; to the right was the distinct trail to the park, bub to the left his sharp eyes saw hoof prints ns if a few of tho Indians had left the rest. He was sure by the scattered brush and the trunks of rotting trees hastily thrown about that care had been taken to cover up this way. The dog sniffed along the beaten way ; be knew the trail of the cattle he had guarded. He trotted back to his master as if to plead with him to follow.

Harry never knew quite why ho turned into the tangled thicket leading to the San Miguel peak, but he felt sure there was a secret path in the mountain ; several old pioneers had said so, declaring the Apaches had a camping place beyond the peak. It was a dreadful task to break through the thicket ; the sharp needles of the pines stung his feet, thorny-branched scrub oaks tore at his clothing, and great boulders and rotting tree trunks impeded liie progress. The certainty that no Indian pony even could traverse such a region chilled his hope and' courage. He had tied a strip of gingham where he left the trail to tho park, and the idea that he bad put the rescuing party on a false scent made him miserable. If he was wrong and his father followed his directions, thinking ho had some clue, would not the wasted days in fruitless search make him angry and despairing ? As the lad went on, a prey to gloomy thoughts, he could see no marks at all; he was sure nothing but wild animals had invaded the solitude. Then suddenly he came to the end of a great rocky wall, a sheer descent of nine hundred .feet. It ivas a spectacle of awe-inspiring grandeur. The great rocky wall, the canyon far below, the silver thread of a river, and beyond gloomy mountains, heavily timbered, while peering above them were bald peaks. Over the latter clouds like tattered veils hung, or some wore hidden in dazzling silver mist as the sun touched them. Purple shadows were creeping down the intervening canyons, and over all brooded a majestic peace. A soft wind came whispering through the pines like breaking waves along a scrand, and a great eagle swept gracefully across a. chasm to his distant eyrie. Harry turned back into the thicket; he was lost himself now. ‘ I won’t lose my head,’ he said bravely. ‘X- was right to come, father would have himself. I’ll keep on, that's all I can do now. As he climbed slowly and. painfully upward a bit of odd colour in the sombi-e green and brown of the landscape caught his eye. Something blue was lying bn tho ground. It gave him some each sensation

as Crusoe felt when he saw the footprint on the sand.

* It may be a patch of flowers,’ panted the lad, pushing forward. It was not, but a little sailor hat with fluttering blue ribbons, his sister’s dearest treasure. It was a gift on her fifth birthday, and very proud she was to don it and run down to meet Harry, Doc at her heels, and all the ride from town that day the lad had been looking for her. Had she dropped it or had his mother let it fall in the darkness, hoping to give a clue ? Perhaps the Indians themselves had purposely placed it there to mislead.

4 1 know my mother left it,’ Harry said, firmly. He wrote on a slip of paper : *1 am sure this is the way, papa,’ pinned it to the hat and left it there. He. fancied now he could see evidences of several horses in the rugged ascent among the great boulders and scattered rocks ; he was nearly to timber-line on a barren mountain summit. Suddenly he realised what a mark his silhouette against che sky would be for the watching Indians, then he got down on his hands and knees and crawled all that terrible way. That strange blurred mark was understood by the men that followed, and they marvelled at the courage and wisdom of the lad. Harry’s knees and elbows were bleeding, his clothing torn to rags by the scrub Oaks that gave him shelter, and his eyes almost blinded by the blazing sun. At night ho reached a little knoll, a sort of spur off the great peak, and here he waited for tho dawn, not knowing whether the Apaches were close by or miles beyond. He suffered terribly for water, and the dog, with parched and lolling tongue, could hardly drag himself along. At dawn Harry, dizzy and ill, staggered to his feet and crept to the edge of the knoll. Was he in another world? The hill ended suddenly ; far below was a little mountain park, with a stream and aspen trees, and a curl ot blue smoke floated from the trees. By the river were wigwams and tiny black figures like toy men. Above, the morning sunlight a crown on his hoary head, towered San Miguel Peak. He saw cattle in the park, and guessed there was some outlet to the other park, and a safer way to bring the stolen stock in. He went back and lay down by the dog, who, too weak to move, almost looked human sympathy from his intelligent eyes. They had been without food and water for two days. ‘ We’ll hunt water in a little while, old fellow,’ muttered Harry. ‘My head is so queer. I can’t seem to think. I pray my father will come.’

Ho sank back, and by-and-by began to talk again, but in strange, incoherent words, and the dog lay and looked at him with wistful eyes. Whenever a man was needed for a daring act James Kendall, of Paradox Valley, was called upon. He had been sheriff in stagerobber days; he had commanded companies of settlors banded to protect their homes from Indians, and had been instrumental in bringing to justice many cattle thieves who had devastated tho region. Lately the Sfc. Juan country had suffered losses from a band of Apaches, who had left, their reservation in Now Mexico, fitted up a mountain stronghold, and, like the border tribes of Scotland, Jived by acquiring other people’s property by theft. They are of all the Indian tribes the most cunning and daring, and so far had eluded pursuit. Their leader. Half-breed Joe, had been brought to justice in times past by Kendall and had determined to be revenged. On tho third day, as Harry thought, his father, with twenty soldiers from tho post, rode down into the valley. The blue uniforms and glittering buttons made a bright bit of colour, as the clatter of their horses echoed in the still air. As they rode under the aspens a riderless broncho came galloping out to meet them. ‘My boy’s broncho!’ cried Kendall, ‘ what can he be doing so far away from the ranch ?’ He sent a man to Newton’s ranch, but no one was there, the family being still in Denver. * Not a sign of cattle,’ muttered Kendall, as they went on. ‘ I never saw the valley so quiet before.’ As he reached Warren’s he turned in his saddle to the soldiers following, silently pointed his long arm at the grey ashes, and put his black horse into a run. When Lieutenant Specie, in charge of the soldiers, arrived at tho cabin, Kendall had already dismounted, searched the place,and was reading his boy's letter. He could not speak. With trembling hand he pointed to the note, and went outside.

4 We will hope for the best,’ said the lieutenant, following him. 4 Don’t look like that, Kendall; bear up, man. They will only hold your wife for ransom. They’re afraid. Half-breed Joe’s work, sure ; but that boy of yours—why, he’s a hero ’ 4 Let’s be on,’ groaned Kendall, 4 every moment is precious.’ „ 4 The horses are too tired, -ib is ueeless ; we must let them rest.’

4 Bring mine with you,’ said Kendall; 4 1 must be moving. I can’t wait a moment. I shall go mad if I dare think.’ They met him at midnight steadily pursuing his way, and nil the days that followed he did nob sleep, and barely ate food enough to keep him alive. Where the trail went into the park a discussion arose. The lieutenant thought it madness to leave so clear a track and to turn into a pathless mountain just because a lad, a mere boy, had gone that way, bub Kendall pointed to the strip of gingham on the tree.

4 lf I must go alono I’ll follow my boy’s directions. He was close after the Apaches. I’ve taught him all the signs ot tracking Indians ; he never was headstrong, nor too daring. We taught him his duty was to be clear-headed and thoughtful.’ ‘No horse, no Indian pony could find footing that way,’ persisted the Lieutenant.

* Mine will,’ answered Kendall, l or lie rotting down a canyon. I’ll go on.’ Five settlers were sent with him, and the company went their ways. 4 You need nob go if you are afraid,’ said Kendall, and then those men would have followed him to death.

The pathetic strips of gingham torn by the lad’s trembling band were their only guides, yet they persevered even to that awful precipice. If that boy afoot could venture the dangers and weary miles those strong men would not complain. The way grew* steeper and more dangerous, a single misstep would have sent horse and rider to a dreadful death. The black horse, sure and certain as a mountain sheep, led the way. Late one afternoon that bit of blue ribbon on the little sailor hat attracted Kendall’s eye. He pointed to it as he rode up, all those bronzed faces grew, pitiful as brave hearts beat faster and tears came. *We are on the trail,’ cried . Kendall, *my boy was right.’ 'He tied the hat to his saddle where the blue ribbon fluttered in the soft air and never the father’s oye fell on them, hut he thought of the golden curls of his darling, her eyes aa blue as the summer sky, her baby laugh, the clinging clasp of her dimpled hands. If this way led to the fiery mouth of a cannon * • would have ridden straight. . r {Continued on page, 11. . ‘ ; - •' . . ■

(Continued Jrom page 6.) W T hen the moon rose over San Miguel that night it revealed the swift-moving figures of five men, the horses tethered far below, and as it rose higher the men could see in the silver light a four-footed something coming 6lowly to meet them. ‘lt ain’t lion nor wolf; too big for a coyote,’ whispered a soldier. It was old Doc, dragging himself to his master, too weak from thirst and hunger to leap upon him or utter welcoming bark. • It’s my cellie,’ cried Kendall; *my boy can’t bo far off. Lead me to Harry, Doc.’ The dog, as if he understood, set off slowly toward the boulder. There, the moonlight shining on his haggard face, his sunken eyes, lay the lad, who had been faithful to duty though ib took his life. He felt something bitter being poured down his throat as some one lifted him. He opened his eyes; he was in his father’s arms, and that kind, tender face was close to his.

4 They’re down there,’ he gasped, pointing a trembling hand, and then he fainted away. At noon the next day a band of determined men rode down that rugged mountain side, Kendall leading. Harry and Doc stayed behind by a spring under some aspens. He listened all day for shots ;he prayed for his mother and sister, and he tried to have faith and courage, but those waiting hours wore the longest he ever know. Toward night, hearing the sound of voices, he staggered to his feet. A soldier came ahead leading a riderless horse.

‘ It’s all right,’ he called to Harry. * They ain’t hurt; they’re cornin’. We never fired a shot; they was only squaws and children down there. Don’t tremble like that, lad. Why, they’re safe, all owing to you finding this place. See, I’ve brought a horse for you to ride home on. There’s stock down there that was stolen from your father a year ago. The Injuns that brought your rna here got news that we was cornin’, and they just left her here and was over into that other park to help get the cattle in here. They’ve got another trail over in them mountains beyond the San Miguel.' A moment later his mother rode up, and she could not speak, nor he ; they could only kiss each other and cry. * I dropped that hat on purpose,’ she said, 4 but I almost felt it was hopeless. It was such a way over the mountain.'

4 Nell dot her hat,’ called the child as she came in sight, She was perched up on the big black horse in front of her father, her golden curls flying, waying the hat in triumph. 4 Papa corned. Mama said he would. The Injuns stolo Nell and Mr Warren, too, and he said no In jin could catch him, but they would mo if I runned away, but I didn't run away. Doc an' me was just goin’ to meet you when they corned.’ How Harry hugged her there, and how pretty and cunning she was in the light of the camp fire, sitting gravely relating her adventures, or petting the dog, or making believe take care of Harry.

‘ I’ve dob my hat an’ the family,’ she said, ‘an’ I never kied once, but the brown babies does dow’n dere, tho In jin ones.’

Back by thatdangorousway but sure and safely, and at last the green valley, the little home under the aspens never so dear before. A small old man was sitting on the door step smoking a short, black pipe. ‘Been out here thirty years, Jim, an’ the Injuns never ketched me afore ; took me clean by surprise. I see they was takin Miss Kendall over inter the mountains,bub I was tied hand and foot an’ couldn’t light, though I kin hold my own again any three Apaches I ever see. The soldiers gob ’em over in the park an’ our cattle's safe down the valley an’ some we lost a year ago. Wal there’s the baby, as smilin’ as ever, never whimpered all the way ’cept when they shot at the dog. As for pioneer wimrnen, many and brave as they be, they can’t beat that wife of yours for grit, Jim.’ ‘Nor my boy,’ said Kendall. ‘Hetvacked them over the San Miguel, where you said there couldn’t be a trail. He thought ib was his duty.’ ‘Dooty an’ courage is same world over,’ grinned Silas, shaking Harry’s hand. ‘Don’t forget, lad, I’ve helped bring ye up too. Tracked ’em, did ye, when they’ve tricked yer pa an’ me for years ? A young head, but lor’ it was meant to be, the risin’ generation in this new kentry is horned heroes, every one of ’em.’