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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.

As the riders completed their first circuit of the camp and drew in closer, Lieutenant Wingate, without waiting for further orders, threw the rifle to his shoulder and fired. A few seconds later, Grace followed with a shot, then Miss Briggs pulled the trigger of her weapon.

“Keep it up!” urged Hippy. “Follow them all the way around with your fire, and take advantage of all the cover you can find.”

The Overton outfit was in the fight in deadly earnest now. Darting here and there to keep the attackers in view, the two girls and Lieutenant Wingate continued to fire their rifles until at least two shoulders were aching from the kick of the weapons.

The spirited defense of the three plucky campers must have amazed their assailants, for the men drew off a little and cut a wider circle on the next circuit of the camp, but still keeping up and receiving a rapid fire all the way around.

“Look out! They’ve changed their tactics,” warned Hippy. “They’re charging us, the fools! Hold fire till they’re in easy reach, then give it to ’em! Just let it slowly peter out now. Don’t cut it off all at once.”

The Overton fire was permitted to die out by degrees, finally ceasing altogether. The strategy of Grace and Hippy had accomplished what they wished it to do – it had made the attackers careless, they evidently surmising from the way the firing died away, that the defenders either had been killed or wounded.

Uttering shrill yells, and shooting, it seemed, with every jump of their horses, the night riders swept down on the little camp in Squaw Valley, determined to put a speedy finish to their work.

“Ready! Fire!” commanded Lieutenant Wingate.

The defenders opened up on the advancing horsemen, firing as rapidly as they could pull the triggers of their rifles. A moment or so of this, apparently, was enough for the attackers, who suddenly whirled and raced their horses further out, where they again began shooting, with bullets from the camp still following them.

“We have ’em on the run! Keep ’em going!” urged Hippy, trying to locate their assailants, whose rifles, at that instant, had suddenly ceased firing. Now and then one or another of the defenders, discovering a movement among the marauders, would shoot, but such shots elicited no reply.

Hippy finally advised that the defenders divide their force, and each take a side of the camp to avoid a surprise, which was done.

“Is it all over?” cried Emma Dean from her hiding place.

“We hope so, but keep down close to the ground for the present,” advised Miss Briggs. “Are you girls all right?”

“Yes, but not riotously happy,” returned Anne.

“The attackers, I should say, are less so; therefore, don’t worry,” answered Elfreda.

To the great relief of the campers, not another shot was fired in Squaw Valley that night, the attackers having disappeared as mysteriously as they came, nor did the Overton party know whether they had been attacked by white men or Indians.

“All over but the shouting,” cried Hippy, as the day began to dawn, laying his rifle aside. “Hey! What’s that out there?” he demanded, pointing to an object that lay some two hundred yards from the camp.

“I believe it is a horse! Hippy Wingate, we have killed a horse!” exclaimed Grace Harlowe in amazement. “Oh, that is too bad!”

“Burning shame!” chortled Hippy.

“Yes, and there is another one down near the creek,” added Miss Briggs excitedly.

“I did it with my trusty rifle,” cried Hippy boastfully.

“You are welcome to all the glory there is,” answered Grace. “Shall we have a look at the animals? Perhaps we may learn something. Come! We will take our rifles with us.”

The Overton defenders had succeeded better than they knew. Not only had they driven off a superior number of desperate men, but they had shot from under their attackers two horses, and possibly downed as many riders.

CHAPTER IX
A STARTLING DISCOVERY

“IT is my opinion that this is an Indian pony,” announced Lieutenant Wingate, bending over the dead horse nearest to the camp.

“How do you know?” questioned Grace, giving Hippy a swift glance to learn if he were in earnest.

“Because it looks like pictures of Indian ponies that I have seen.”

Grace smiled, but made no comment.

“Here is a rifle under the critter, too,” he added. “I wonder what happened to the rider?”

“Is it an Indian rifle?” asked Miss Briggs in all seriousness.

Hippy confessed that he did not know.

“I don’t believe you would qualify as an expert on things Indian,” laughed Grace, starting on with her companions toward the creek to look at the second victim of the Overton girls’ shooting. They found nothing on that pony except saddle and bridle.

“Please remove the equipment from them, Lieutenant,” Grace requested. “I will take the rifle. I wish Mr. Fairweather to examine the equipment.”

“I sincerely hope he knows more about Indians than Hippy does,” observed Elfreda dryly.

“Do you think those scoundrels will come back?” questioned Elfreda as they were returning to camp.

“Not in the daytime. If you mean will they bother us in future, I will say yes, and, being a prudent person, I shall try to be prepared for them this evening.”

“You are a queer girl, Loyalheart. The longer I know you the less I understand you. You are the gentlest, sweetest woman I have ever known, but under the surface you have an armor of steel,” declared Miss Briggs.

“This mountain air surely is making you light-headed, Elfreda dear,” laughingly retorted Grace Harlowe. “I am a woman like yourself, no different, and, like yourself, I have fairly good control over my nervous system. Youth and years of outdoor activity have given me the qualities you have in mind.”

“Perhaps that is it. It has given you something else, too – it has given you beauty of face and figure, given you a better understanding and a greater love for your friends, and mankind in general.”

Grace nodded over the latter sentiment.

“If all young women could come to understand what outdoor life means to one, I do not believe they would cling to the town, to their late hours, late suppers and nerve-breaking rounds of social pleasures. It is no especial credit to a woman to be beautiful; it is her duty to be so. Any woman whom nature has endowed with a substantial physical foundation may be beautiful, but not from wearing fashionable clothes or the use of cosmetics. Right here in the open is the remedy free to all. The open spots, Elfreda; God’s free air; healthful, wholesome exercise, and right thinking and right doing. Pardon me, dear. I do not often open my heart like this, though I think of these things every day of my life.”

“I call yours a pretty good religion,” declared Elfreda with emphasis.

“I do not call it my religion,” objected Grace. “Rather, is it my rule of practice. One might call it the application of the greater principle.”

“We are wading into deep water. Suppose we have breakfast,” twinkled Miss Briggs.

“Yes. Some time to-day I propose that we go for a tramp along the creek and up the nearby canyons, and practice a little of what I am preaching to you. We will all go and have the best kind of a time. Ah! Nora and Anne are getting breakfast.”

“Have plenty of food,” cried Hippy as he came in a few moments later with the saddles and bridles of the dead horses. “A night in the Overton trenches does give one an appetite.”

Throwing the equipment down, Hippy told Nora, Emma and Anne about the fight of the previous night, not forgetting to give himself all the credit to which he considered himself entitled.

“This is terrible,” wailed Emma. “I’m afraid of somebody or something.”

“Fiddlesticks!” rebuked Elfreda. “After going through a great war one should not have nerves. Let’s eat.”

After breakfast the defenders turned in for a few hours’ sleep, Nora and Anne in the meantime standing guard over the camp. No trouble was looked for during the day, but Grace fully expected that they would have plenty of it, in one form or another, when darkness had settled over the valley.

This apprehension was not permitted to interfere with their enjoyment of the day, so, after the sleepers had finished their naps, mess kits were packed and the party started toward the creek for an old-fashioned picnic.

Grace had a twofold reason for wishing to go to the creek and up the canyons. First, she hoped to put her companions in a better frame of mind, and for herself she wished to satisfy her curiosity as to the direction that the night raiders took after the Overton party drove them off.

Hippy Wingate was left to watch the camp – and to sleep, as Grace suspected that he would do.

Grace Harlowe, with rifle under her arm, led her party, singing college songs as she tripped along, just as she and her companions were wont to do when picnicking in the Overton hills.

Reaching Pinal Creek, the party followed it along for a short distance, then turned off into a high-walled canyon, where they finally camped and spread their luncheon on the ground by the side of a rippling mountain stream. There they ate and chatted.

Grace had studied the ground along creek and canyon for indications of the course taken by the night raiders after the battle. The hoof-prints, however, seemed to end at the bank of Pinal Creek, and she was unable to pick them up again.

The other girls, following the luncheon, amused themselves with lying flat on their backs, gazing up the sheer walls of the canyon at the ribbon of blue sky lined out by the tops of the canyon walls. Later on they strolled off singly and in pairs in search of wild flowers.

“I’m going up this canyon,” called Grace, who had risen and picked her way along the little stream that joined Pinal Creek some distance below them. “If any one of you gets into difficulties give the Overton yell.”

“Same to you,” called Nora.

It was more than an hour later when Grace came sauntering downstream, humming happily, for the vastness of the mountains and the grandeur of the scenery had thrilled and entranced her. Anne was waiting for her at the point where the girls had taken their luncheon.

“Where are the girls?” called Grace as she espied her companion.

“Downstream somewhere. They said not to worry, as they might keep on going until they reached the valley.”

“It is getting late, and I think it advisable for all to return to camp at once. Come along, Anne dear. I stirred up something up there that I believe to be a large wild animal. That is, I heard it, but could not see it. Should we still be in camp in the valley to-morrow, I hope to go hunting for it.”

“Provided you yourself are not hunted,” suggested Anne.

Grace laughed.

“Don’t you think I am quite able to take care of myself?” she asked.

“Up to a certain point, yes. Beyond that I am apprehensive.”

“Merely another case of nerves, Anne dear, so forget it and enjoy the scenery. Yonder is where we turn to take the trail for home. The girls must have tired of wandering in this wonderful place.”

Arm in arm the two girls strolled back towards the camp, chatting, laughing and enjoying the bracing mountain air.

“The girls are at the camp,” said Anne, pointing.

“I have an idea that they did not feel wholly safe in the mountains,” replied Grace. “I really believe that I could spend the rest of my life here and without ever knowing a moment of loneliness.”

“Tenderfeet!” chided Anne laughingly, as she and Grace entered the camp.

Grace’s alert eyes instantly missed one of the Overton girls.

“Where is Emma? Has she gone to bed?” she demanded.

“Emma?” wondered Miss Briggs.

“We left her with Anne,” Nora informed them.

“Yes, and Emma went downstream a few moments after you girls went away. She said she would go back to camp, gathering flowers on the way,” interjected Anne.

“How long was this before I joined you, Anne?” questioned Grace, turning to her companion.

“I should say about three-quarters of an hour,” answered Anne, a worried look creeping into her eyes.

“What’s this?” demanded Lieutenant Wingate. “Emma missing?”

“Don’t worry. She will turn up all right,” comforted Nora. “You can’t lose Emma Dean so easily.”

“Elfreda, please get a rifle and come with me,” directed Grace incisively. “Hippy, I should like to have you go with us, but it is more important that you remain here to look after the camp. Should we not find Emma soon, I will fire three interval shots for assistance. You will then hurry to me, but in that event, bring Nora and Anne with you. In no circumstances leave them here alone.”

Grace issued her directions calmly, but there was that in her tone that brought a worried look to four pairs of eyes. That she suspected more than appeared on the surface was apparent to all.

“You – you don’t think that anything ha – as happened to Emma, do you?” begged Anne.

“Girls, something serious surely has happened to Emma Dean!” gravely responded Grace Harlowe. “Come, Elfreda! We must not lose an instant. You people be alert for rifle signals.”