Sunset Pass | Page 2

moment. He was a
hard-headed, obstinate fellow, and he hated to give up. Two months
ago his wife had died, leaving to his care two dear little ones--a boy of
nine and a girl of six. He soon determined to take them East to his
home in far Pennsylvania. There was no Southern Pacific or any other

Arizona railway in those days. Officers and their families who wanted
to go East had to turn their faces westward, take a four or five days'
"buckboard" ride across the dusty deserts to the Colorado River, camp
there perhaps a week before "Captain Jack Mellon" came backing or
sideways down the shallow stream with his old "Cocopah." Then they
sculled or ground their way over the sand bars down to Fort Yuma, a
devious and monotonous trip; then were transferred to "lighten" or else,
on the same old Cocopah, were floated out into the head of the Gulf of
California and there hoisted aboard the screw steamers of the Ocean
line--either the Newbern or the Montana, and soon went plunging down
the gulf, often very sea-sick, yet able to get up and look about when
their ship poked in at some strange old Mexican town, La Paz or
Guaymas, and finally, turning Cape St. Lucas, away they would steam
up the coast to San Francisco, which they would reach after a two
weeks' sea voyage and then, hey for the Central Pacific, Cape Horn, the
Sierras, Ogden, and the tramp to the Union Pacific and, at last, home in
the distant east, all after a journey of five or six weeks and an expense
of months of the poor officer's pay.
Now Captain Gwynne was what we called a "close" man. He could not
bear the idea of spending something like a thousand dollars in taking
himself, little Ned and Nellie, and their devoted old nurse, Irish Kate,
by that long and expensive route. He had two fine horses and a capital
family wagon, covered. He had a couple of stout mules and a good
baggage wagon. Jim, his old driver, would go along to take care of "the
Concord," as the family cart was termed. Manuelito, a swarthy
Mexican, would drive the mules; the captain would ride his own pet
saddle horse, Gregg, and a discharged soldier, whom he hired for the
purpose, would ride McIntosh, the other charger. All were well armed.
Parties were going unmolested over the Sunset Pass route every month.
Why should not he?
The officers at Prescott shook their heads and endeavored to dissuade
him, but the more they argued the more determined was he. There were
tearful eyes among the ladies at Prescott barracks, where Mrs. Gwynne
had been dearly loved, when they bade good-by to the children. But
one fine day away went "the outfit;" stopped that night at Camp Verde,

deep down in the valley; started again early in the morning, despite the
protestations of the garrison, and that evening were camping among the
beautiful pine woods high up on the Mogollon range. Sieber's
pronunciation of the name--"Mogeyone"--will give you a fair idea of
what it is really like.
And now, three days out on the Mesa, Ned and Nellie, in silence, but
with beating hearts, were listening to this conversation between their
father and the famous scout, and hoping, poor little mites, that their
father would be advised and turn back until met by cavalry from Verde;
yet so loyal to him, so trustful to him, that neither to one another nor to
Kate would they say a word.
"Well, Sieber, I've argued this thing out with all Prescott and Verde,"
said the captain at last. "I've sworn I wouldn't turn back, and so, by
jinks, I'm going ahead. It's all open country around Snow Lake, and I
can keep on the alert when we reach the Pass."
"You know your business best, I suppose, captain, but--" and Sieber
stopped abruptly and gazed through the open windows of the Concord
at the two little forms huddled together, with such white faces, on the
back seat.
"Well, won't you at least wait and camp here a day or so? I'll go down
by way of Wales Arnold's and get him to send up a couple of men. That
won't be going back, and you'll be tolerably safe here. The cavalry
won't be long getting out this way."
"And meantime having my beasts eating barley by the bucketful so that
I won't have enough to get through? No, Al, I've made calculations just
how many days it will take me to get over to Wingate, and delay would
swamp me. I don't mean to discredit your story, of course, but
everybody, even at Verde, said the renegades were all down by Tonto
Creek, and I cannot believe