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had been left in their quarters, to be worn on dress occasions. They were
heavy, and they rattled too much; against the lances of the Indians they were
generally useless.
Callaghen wore his gun as regulations prescribed, but he carried another, as
regulations did not prescribe, tucked behind his belt inside his blouse,
easily available in case of need. He wanted a six-shooter where he could get
it into action fast. Also, having come from another unit, he carried a Henry
.44, sixteen-shot rifle. It fired a 216-grain bullet with a powder charge of
25 grains in a rim-fire cartridge.
Heat waves shimmered across the desert, and in all that vast distance, aside
from the thin column, nothing moved but a buzzard swinging in lazy circles,
far above. Shortly after noon, in a canyon mouth that provided shade, Sprague
halted and dismounted his men for a break. They scattered in the shade along
the canyon wall, two men remaining with the horses.
Sprague lit the stub of a cigar and squinted at the heat waves. "Damned hard
to see through that," he commented, speaking around the cigar as he touched it
with a match. "It distorts everything. Had much experience in the desert,
Callaghen?"
"Yes, sir. A good deal, sir."
"Is it all like this?"
"No, sir. There's some big dunes ahead, and a lot of cinder cones ... old
volcanic action."
Sprague glanced at him. "I hear you've been an officer?"
"Not in this army, sir."
Sprague shrugged. "In my last command my first sergeant had been a
Confederate colonel. Have you seen much action? I mean aside from out here?"
"Yes, sir. Fourteen, fifteen years of it." He paused. "I'm getting out, and
I'm leaving the service. My papers are overdue."
Sprague dusted the ash from his cigar. "Better think it over."
"At eighteen dollars a month? No, sir. I can do better driving stage, or
mining. There's not much chance to get ahead, and a man is getting older all
the time."
"You're right about that. And there isn't any shortage of officers. The war
provided plenty of them." He looked out over the desert. "A weird place,
Sergeant."
"South of here," Callaghen said, "in theColorado desert , there's a story of
a lost ship with a cargo of pearls. Much of that desert is below sea level,
and a man can see the old shore line plainly. The story is that a Spanish ship
came into the area when it was flooded, but the opening was closed by tidal
bores up theGulf of California , and the ship's crew could not find a way out.
Another story is that that same area was the original home of the Aztecs, and
that they migrated toMexico ."
"Think there's anything to it?"
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"It's all guesswork, but old Spanish documents do tell strange stories. The
Spaniards came first, after all, and they saw some things that time has
erased, and of course the Indians had stories to tell.
"TheRelaciones, written by Father Zarate Salmeron, tells of a party of
Spanish soldiers who came to a lonely place on the shores of theGulf of
California and found some Asiatics there. Awnings had been set up on the shore
near their ships, and they were trading with the Indians. That was about 1538.
They implied they had been trading there for years."
Lieutenant Sprague stood up, and Callaghen did likewise. He said, "Deserts
breed mystery, and especially such a place as this, which was not always
desert."
"You think not?"
"Dig down, Captain, almost anywhere out there, and soon you will strike a
layer of black soil decomposed vegetation. Once this was a green and lovely
land, with patches of trees, perhaps even real forest. Our knowledge is like
an iceberg: we know a little, but the vast amount we have yet to learn still
remains hidden from us." He paused.
"All right," Sprague said. "Mount them, Sergeant."
They saw no Indians; there was no movement but the heat waves. They rode on,
swinging farther away from the trail to Vegas Springs. Again they saw tracks
... four Indians, these headed northwest.
"What do you make of it?" Sprague asked theDelaware .
"They know the stage comes. They will attack."
Lieutenant Sprague drew up sharply, lifting a hand to halt the command. "You
think so?"
"Many Indians ride west by north," theDelaware said, "too many Indians. We
see fourteen, fifteen ... Maybe twice as many ride from elsewhere. I think
they do not ride for nothing."
"Callaghen, what's your opinion?"
"I'd have to agree, sir. Whatever an Indian does is apt to be for a reason.
We have found the tracks of three parties going northwest. The only thing in
that direction is the trail to Vegas Springs toLas Vegas ."
Lieutenant Sprague considered the situation with no pleasure. His orders had
been clear. He was to make a sweep through the desert, acquainting himself
with the country, giving the Mohaves a show of force, and scouting to see if
there was any activity. At the same time their basic mission was to protect
travelers on the Government Road, whether toFortMohave and theColorado , or to
Vegas Springs.
They had sighted the sign of what they believed to be fourteen or fifteen
Indians. Not a large number, certainly. But their number was not a
consideration, for on the stage there would probably be not more than three or
four men and perhaps some women. And if theDelaware and Sergeant Callaghen
were correct, other Indians might also be moving to the attack.
Sprague calculated the time the stage would take to arrive at a point where
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the Indians, following their present line of march, might attack. He was not
eager for battle, but he was not unwilling to face it if necessary. Sprague
was a soldier who believed in accomplishing the mission he set out upon; and
if he could, by presenting his force in the vicinity, thus avoid a battle or
prevent an attack on the stage, he would be as well pleased.
"Where would you guess they would attempt an attack?" he asked.
Callaghen glanced at theDelaware . "Bitter Springs?"
"I think Bitter Springs. The stage will stop there for water. It is not very
good water, but it is water, and the horses will need it."
"How far is it?"
"Possibly twenty-five miles closer to twenty, I think."
After another brief rest the column turned north.
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