[Illustration: THE FIGHT IN THE CAÑON]

 AN APACHE PRINCESS

 _A Tale of the Indian Frontier_

 BY

 GENERAL CHARLES KING

 AUTHOR OF "A DAUGHTER OF THE SIOUX, " "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER, " "FORT FRAYNE, " "AN ARMY WIFE, " ETC. , ETC. 

 ILLUSTRATIONS BY

 FREDERIC REMINGTON

 _and_

 EDWIN WILLARD DEMING

 NEW YORK THE HOBART COMPANY 1903

 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY THE HOBART COMPANY. 

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

THE MEETING BY THE WATERS, CHAPTER II

SCOT VERSUS SAXON, CHAPTER III

MOCCASIN TRACKS, CHAPTER IV

A STRICKEN SENTRY, CHAPTER V

THE CAPTAIN'S DEFIANCE, CHAPTER VI

A FIND IN THE SANDS, CHAPTER VII

"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT, "

CHAPTER VIII

"APACHE KNIVES DIG DEEP, "

CHAPTER IX

A CARPET KNIGHT, INDEED, CHAPTER X

"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE NIGHT" AGAIN, CHAPTER XI

A STOP--BY WIRE, CHAPTER XII

FIRE!

CHAPTER XIII

WHOSE LETTERS?

CHAPTER XIV

AUNT JANET BRAVED, CHAPTER XV

A CALL FOR HELP, CHAPTER XVI

A RETURN TO COMMAND, CHAPTER XVII

A STRANGE COMING, CHAPTER XVIII

A STRANGER GOING, CHAPTER XIX

BESIEGED, CHAPTER XX

WHERE IS ANGELA?

CHAPTER XXI

OUR VANISHED PRINCESS, CHAPTER XXII

SUSPENSE, CHAPTER XXIII

AN APACHE QUEEN, CHAPTER XXIV

THE MEETING AT SANDY, CHAPTER XXV

RESCUE REQUITED, CHAPTER XXVI

"WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE, "

CHAPTER XXVII

THE PARTING BY THE WATERS, _L'ENVOI_

 * * * * *

ILLUSTRATIONS

FRONTISPIECE

"NOW HALTING, DROPPING ON ONE KNEE TO FIRE, "

"BLAKELY LED 'EM ACROSS NO. 4'S POST, "

THE FIGHT IN THE CAÑON, "INDIAN SIGNALS BEYOND POSSIBILITY OF A DOUBT, "

"THEN SLOWLY, THEY SAW HER RAISE HER RIGHT HAND, STILL CAUTIOUSLY HOLDING THE LITTLE MIRROR, "

"THEY HUSTLED HER PONY INTO A RAVINE, "

"NATZIE WRENCHED HER HAND FROM THAT OF BLAKELY, AND WITH THE SPRING OF A TIGRESS BOUNDED AWAY, "

 * * * * *

AN APACHE PRINCESS

CHAPTER I

THE MEETING BY THE WATERS

Under the willows at the edge of the pool a young girl satdaydreaming, though the day was nearly done. All in the valley waswrapped in shadow, though the cliffs and turrets across the streamwere resplendent in a radiance of slanting sunshine. Not a cloudtempered the fierce glare of the arching heavens or softened the sharpoutline of neighboring peak or distant mountain chain. Not a whisperof breeze stirred the drooping foliage along the sandy shores orruffled the liquid mirror surface. Not a sound, save drowsy hum ofbeetle or soft murmur of rippling waters, among the pebbly shallowsbelow, broke the vast silence of the scene. The snow cap, gleaming atthe northern horizon, lay one hundred miles away and looked but aneasy one-day march. The black upheavals of the Matitzal, barring thesouthward valley, stood sullen and frowning along the Verde, jealousof the westward range that threw their rugged gorges into early shade. Above and below the still and placid pool and but a few miles distant, the pine-fringed, rocky hillsides came shouldering close to thestream, but fell away, forming a deep, semicircular basin toward thewest, at the hub of which stood bolt-upright a tall, snowy flagstaff, its shred of bunting hanging limp and lifeless from the peak, and inthe dull, dirt-colored buildings of adobe, ranged in rigid lines aboutthe dull brown, flat-topped _mesa_, a thousand yards up stream abovethe pool, drowsed a little band of martial exiles, stationed here tokeep the peace 'twixt scattered settlers and swarthy, swarmingApaches. The fort was their soldier home; the solitary girl asoldier's daughter. 

She could hardly have been eighteen. Her long, slim figure, in itsclinging riding habit, betrayed, despite roundness and supple grace, acertain immaturity. Her hands and feet were long and slender. Hersun-tanned cheek and neck were soft and rounded. Her mouth wasdelicately chiseled and the lips were pink as the heart of aBridesmaid rose, but, being firmly closed, told no tale of the teethwithin, without a peep at which one knew not whether the beauty of thesweet young face was really made or marred. Eyes, eyebrows, lashes, and a wealth of tumbling tresses of rich golden brown were all superb, but who could tell what might be the picture when she opened thosepretty, curving lips to speak or smile? Speak she did not, even to thegreyhounds stretched sprawling in the warm sands at her feet. Smileshe could not, for the young heart was sore troubled. 

Back in the thick of the willows she had left her pony, blinkinglazily and switching his long tail to rid his flanks of humminginsects, but never mustering energy enough to stamp a hoof or straina thread of his horsehair _riata_. Both the long, lean, sprawlinghounds lolled their red, dripping tongues and panted in the sullenheat. Even the girl herself, nervous at first and switching with herdainty whip at the crumbling sands and pacing restlessly to and fro, had yielded gradually to the drooping influences of the hour and, seated on a rock, had buried her chin in the palm of her hand, and, with eyes no longer vagrant and searching, had drifted away intomaiden dreamland. Full thirty minutes had she been there waiting forsomething, or somebody, and it, or he, had not appeared. 

Yet somebody else was there and close at hand. The shadow of thewestward heights had gradually risen to the crest of the rocky cliffsacross the stream. A soft, prolonged call of distant trumpet summonedhomeward, for the coming night, the scattered herds and herd guards ofthe post, and, rising with a sigh of disappointment, the girl turnedtoward her now impatient pony when her ear caught the sound of asmothered hand-clap, and, whirling about in swift hope and surprise, her face once more darkened at sight of an Indian girl, Apacheunquestionably, crouching in the leafy covert of the opposite willowsand pointing silently down stream. For a moment, without love or fearin the eyes of either, the white girl and the brown gazed at eachother across the intervening water mirror and spoke no word. Then, slowly, the former approached the brink, looked in the directionindicated by the little dingy index and saw nothing to warrant therecall. Moreover, she was annoyed to think that all this time, perhaps, the Indian girl had been lurking in that sheltering grove andstealthily watching her. Once more she turned away, this time with atoss of her head that sent the russet-brown tresses tumbling about herslim back and shoulders, and at once the hand-clap was repeated, low, but imperative, and Tonto, the biggest of the two big hounds, upliftedone ear and growled a challenge. 

"What do you want?" questioned the white girl, across the estrangingwaters. 

For answer the brown girl placed her left forefinger on her lips, andagain distinctly pointed to a little clump of willows a dozen rodsbelow, but on the westward side. 

"Do you mean--someone's coming?" queried the first. 

"Sh-sh-sh!" answered the second softly, then pointed again, andpointed eagerly. 

The soldier's daughter glanced about her, uncertainly, a moment, thenslowly, cautiously made her way along the sandy brink in the directionindicated, gathering the folds of her long skirt in her gauntletedhand and stepping lightly in her slender moccasins. A moment or two, and she had reached the edge of a dense little copse and peeredcautiously within. The Indian girl was right. Somebody lay there, apparently asleep, and the fair young intruder recoiled in obviousconfusion, if not dismay. For a moment she stood with fluttering heartand parting lips that now permitted reassuring glimpse of pearlywhite teeth. For a moment she seemed on the verge of panicky retreat, but little by little regained courage and self-poise. What was thereto fear in a sleeping soldier anyhow? She knew who it was at a glance. She could, if she would, whisper his name. Indeed, she had beenwhispering it many a time, day and night, these last two weeksuntil--until certain things about him had come to her ears that madeher shrink in spite of herself from this handsome, petted youngsoldier, this Adonis of her father's troop, Neil Blakely, lieutenantof cavalry. 

"The Bugologist, " they called him in cardroom circles at the "store, "where men were fiercely intolerant of other pursuits than poker, forwhich pastime Mr. Blakely had no use whatever--no more use than hadits votaries for him. He was a dreamy sort of fellow, with big blueeyes and a fair skin that were in themselves sufficient to stir therancor of born frontiersmen, and they of Arizona in the days of oldwere an exaggeration of the type in general circulation on the Plains. He was something of a dandy in dress, another thing they loathed;something of a purist in speech, which was affectation unpardonable;something of a dissenter as to drink, appreciative of "Cucumungo" andclaret, but distrustful of whisky--another thing to call down scornillimitable from the elect of the mining camps and packing "outfits. "But all these disqualifications might have been overlooked had thelieutenant displayed even a faint preference for poker. "The Lordloveth a cheerful giver--or loser" was the creed of the cardroomcircle at the store, but beyond a casual or smiling peep at the gamefrom the safe distance of the doorway, Mr. Blakely had vouchsafed nointerest in affairs of that character. To the profane disgust of BillHyde, chief packer, and the malevolent, if veiled, criticism ofcertain "sporty" fellow soldiers, Blakely preferred to spend hisleisure hours riding up and down the valley, with a butterfly net overhis shoulders and a japanned tin box slung at his back, searching forspecimens that were scarce as the Scriptures among his commentators. 

Even on this hot October afternoon he had started on his entomologicalwork, but, finding little encouragement and resting a while in theshade, he had dozed away on a sandy couch, his head on his arms, hisbroad-brimmed hat over his face, his shapely legs outstretched inlazy, luxurious enjoyment, his tall and slender form, arrayed in coolwhite blouse and trousers, really a goodly thing to behold. This day, too, he must have come afoot, but his net and box lay there besidehim, and his hunt had been without profit, for both were apparentlyempty. Possibly he had devoted but little time to netting insects. Possibly he had thought to encounter bigger game. If so his zest inthe sport must have been but languid, since he had so soon yielded tothe drowsy influences of the day. There was resentment in the heart ofthe girl as this occurred to her, even though it would have angeredher the more had anyone suggested she had come in hope of seeing orspeaking with him. 

And yet, down in the bottom of her heart, she knew that just such ahope had held her there even to the hour of recall. She knew that, since opportunities for meeting him within the garrison were limited, she had deliberately chosen to ride alone, and farther than she hadever ridden alone before, in hope of meeting him without. She knewthat in the pursuit of his winged prey he never sought the open _mesa_or the ravines and gorges of the foothills. Only along the stream werethey--and he--to be found. Only along the stream, therefore, had shethis day ridden and, failing to see aught of him, had dismounted tothink in quiet by the pool, so she told herself, but incidentally towait and watch for him; and now she had found him, neither watchingnor waiting, but in placid unconcern and slumber. 

One reason why they met so seldom in garrison was that her father didnot like him in the least. The captain was a veteran soldier, self-taught and widely honored, risen from the ranks. The lieutenantwas a man of gentle breeding and of college education, a soldier bychoice, or caprice, yet quite able at any time to quit the service andlive a life of ease, for he had, they said, abundant means of his own. He had been first lieutenant of that troop at least five years, notfive months of which had he served on duty with it. First one general, then another, had needed him as aide-de-camp, and when, on his ownapplication, he had been relieved from staff duty to enable him toaccompany his regiment to this then distant and inhospitable land, hehad little more than reached Camp Sandy when he was sent by thedepartment commander to investigate some irregularity at the Apachereservation up the valley, and then, all unsoliciting, he had beenplaced in charge pending the coming of a new agent to replace theimpeached one going home under guard, and the captain said thingsabout his subaltern's always seeking "fancy duty" that were natural, yet unjust--things that reached Mr. Blakely in exaggerated form, andthat angered him against his senior to the extent of open rupture. Then Blakely took the mountain fever at the agency, thereby stillfurther delaying his return to troop duty, and then began anothercomplication, for the contract doctor, though skillful in histreatment, was less assiduous in nursing than were the wife of thenewly arrived agent and her young companion Lola, daughter of theagency interpreter and his Apache-Yuma wife. 

When well enough to attempt light duty again, the lieutenant hadrejoined at Sandy, and, almost the first face to greet him on hisarrival was one he had never seen before and never forgotthereafter--the sweet, laughing, winsome face of Angela Wren, hiscaptain's only child. 

The regiment had marched into Arizona overland, few of the wives anddaughters with it. Angela, motherless since her seventh year, was atschool in the distant East, together with the daughters of the colonelthen commanding the regiment. They were older; were "finishing" thatsummer, and had amazed that distinguished officer by demanding to beallowed to join him with their mother. When they left the schoolAngela could stand it no longer. She both telegraphed and wrote, begging piteously to be permitted to accompany them on the longjourney by way of San Francisco, and so it had finally been settled. The colonel's household were now at regimental headquarters up atPrescott, and Angela was quite happy at Camp Sandy. She had been therebarely four weeks when Neil Blakely, pale, fragile-looking, and stillfar from strong, went to report for duty at his captain's quarters andwas met at the threshold by his captain's daughter. 

Expecting a girl friend, Kate Sanders, from "down the row, " she hadrushed to welcome her, and well-nigh precipitated herself upon astranger in the natty undress uniform of the cavalry. Her instantblush was something beautiful to see. Blakely said the proper thingsto restore tranquillity; smilingly asked for her father, his captain;and, while waiting for that warrior to finish shaving and come down toreceive him, was entertained by Miss Wren in the little army parlor. Looking into her wondrous eyes and happy, blushing face, he forgotthat there was rancor between his troop commander and himself, untilthe captain's stiff, unbending greeting reminded him. Thoughtlesspeople at the post, however, were laughing over the situation a weekthereafter. Neil Blakely, a squire of dames in San Francisco and othercities when serving on staff duty, a society "swell" and clubman, hadobviously become deeply interested in this blithe young army girl, without a cent to her name--with nothing but her beauty, native grace, and sweet, sunshiny nature to commend her. And everyone hitherto hadsaid Neil Blakely would never marry in the army. 

And there was one woman at Sandy who saw the symptoms with jealous andjaundiced eyes--Clarice, wife of the major then commanding the little"four-company" garrison. Other women took much to heart the fact thatMajor Plume had cordially invited Blakely, on his return from theagency, to be their guest until he could get settled in his ownquarters. The Plumes had rooms to spare--and no children. The major wastwelve years older than his wife, but women said it often looked theother way. Mrs. Plume had aged very rapidly after his sojourn onrecruiting duty in St. Louis. Frontier commissariat and cooking playedhob with her digestion, said the major. Frontier winds and water dealthavoc to her complexion, said the women. But both complexion anddigestion seemed to "take a brace, " as irreverent youth expressed it, when Neil Blakely came to Sandy and the major's roof. True, he stayedbut six and thirty hours and then moved into his own domicile--quartersNo. 7--after moving out a most reluctant junior. Major Plume and Mrs. Plume had expected him, they were so kind as to say, to choose a vacanthalf set, excellent for bachelor purposes, under the roof that shelteredCaptain Wren, Captain Wren's maiden sister and housekeeper, and Angela, the captain's daughter. This set adjoined the major's big central house, its south windows looking into the major's north gallery. "It would beso neighborly and nice, " said Mrs. Plume. Instead, however, Mr. Blakelystood upon his prerogative as a senior subaltern and "ranked out" Mr. And Mrs. Bridger and baby, and these otherwise gentle folk, evicted andaggrieved, knowing naught of Blakely from previous association, andseeing no reason why he should wish to be at the far end of the rowinstead of the middle, with his captain, where he properly belonged, deemed themselves the objects of wanton and capricious treatment at hishands, and resented it according to their opportunities. Bridger, beinga soldier and subordinate, had to take it out in soliloquy andswear-words, but his impetuous little helpmate--being a woman, a wifeand mother, set both wits and tongue to work, and heaven help the manwhen woman has both to turn upon him! In refusing the room and windowsthat looked full-face into those of Mrs. Plume, Blakely had nettled her. In selecting the quarters occupied by Mr. And Mrs. Bridger he hadslightly inconvenienced and sorely vexed the latter. With noincumbrances whatever, with fine professional record, with personaltraits and reputation to make him enviable, with comparative wealth and, as a rule, superlative health, Blakely started on his career as asubaltern at Sandy with three serious handicaps, --the disfavor of hiscaptain, who knew and loved him little, --the prejudice of Mrs. Bridger, who knew and loved him not at all, --and the jealous pique of Mrs. Plume, who had known and loved him, possibly, too well. 

There was little duty doing at Sandy at the time whereof we write. Menrose at dawn and sent the horses forth to graze all day in thefoothills under heavy guard. It was too hot for drills, with themercury sizzling at the hundred mark. Indian prisoners did the"police" work about the post; and men and women dozed and wilted inthe shade until the late afternoon recall. Then Sandy woke up andenergetically stabled, drilled, paraded under arms at sunset, mountedguard immediately thereafter, dined in spotless white; then rode, drove, flirted, danced, gossiped, made mirth, melody, or monotonousplaint till nearly midnight; then slept until the dawn of another day. 

Indians there were in the wilds of the Mogollon to the southeast, and, sometimes at rare intervals straying from the big reservation up thevalley, they scared the scattered settlers of the Agua Fria and theHassayampa; but Sandy rarely knew of them except as prisoners. Not ahostile shot had been fired in the surrounding mountains for at leastsix months, so nobody felt the least alarm, and many only languidinterest, when the white-coated officers reported the result of sunsetroll-call and inspection, and, saluting Major Plume, the captain of"C" Troop announced in tones he meant should be heard along the row:"Mr. Blakely, sir, is absent!"

CHAPTER II

SCOT VERSUS SAXON

Three women were seated at the moment on the front veranda of themajor's quarters--Mrs. Plume, Miss Janet Wren, the captain's sister, and little Mrs. Bridger. The first named had been intently watchingthe officers as, after the dismissal of their companies at thebarracks, they severally joined the post commander, who had beenstanding on the barren level of the parade, well out toward theflagstaff, his adjutant beside him. To her the abrupt announcementcaused no surprise. She had seen that Mr. Blakely was not with histroop. The jeweled hands slightly twitched, but her voice had therequisite and conventional drawl as she turned to Miss Wren: "Chasingsome new butterfly, I suppose, and got lost. A--what time did--Angelareturn?"

"Hours ago, I fancy. She was dressed when I returned from hospital. Sergeant Leary seems worse to-day. "

"That was nearly six, " dreamily persisted Mrs. Plume. "I happened tobe at the side window. " In the pursuit of knowledge Mrs. Plume adheredto the main issue and ignored the invalid sergeant, whose slowconvalescence had stirred the sympathies of the captain's sister. 

"Yes, it was nearly that when Angela dismounted, " softly said Mrs. Bridger. "I heard Punch galloping away to his stable. "

"Why, Mrs. Bridger, are you sure?" And the spinster of forty-fiveturned sharply on the matron of less than half her years. "She had onher white muslin when she came to the head of the stairs to answerme. "

Mrs. Bridger could not be mistaken. It was Angela's habit when shereturned from her rides to dismount at the rear gateway; give Punchhis _congé_ with a pat or two of the hand; watch him a moment as hetore gleefully away, round to the stables to the westward of the bigquadrangle; then to go to her room and dress for the evening, comingdown an hour later, looking fresh and sweet and dainty as a dewyMermet. As a rule she rode without other escort than the hounds, forher father would not go until the sun was very low and would not lether go with Blakely or Duane, the only bachelor troop officers then atSandy. He had nothing against Duane, but, having set his seal againstthe other, felt it necessary to include them both. As a rule, therefore, she started about four, alone, and was home an hour later. Five young maidens dwelt that year in officers' row, daughters of theregiments, --for it was a mixed command and not a big one, --twocompanies each of infantry and cavalry, after the manner of the early70's. Angela knew all four girls, of course, and had formed anintimacy with one--one who only cared to ride in the cool of thebright evenings when the officers took the hounds jack-rabbit huntingup the valley. Twice a week, when Luna served, they held thesemoonlit meets, and galloping at that hour, though more dangerous tonecks, was less so to complexions. As a rule, too, Angela and Punchcontented themselves with a swift scurry round the reservation, withfrequent fordings of the stream for the joy it gave them both. Theywere rarely out of sight of the sentries and never in any appreciabledanger. No Apache with hostile intent ventured near enough to Sandy torisk reprisals. Miners, prospectors, and ranchmen were few in numbers, but, far and wide they knew the captain's bonny daughter, and, likethe men of her father's troop, would have risked their lives to do hera service. Their aversions as to Sandy were centered in the other sex. 

Aunt Janet, therefore, had some reason for doubting the report of Mrs. Bridger. It was so unlike Angela to be so very late returning, although, now that Mrs. Bridger had mentioned it, she, too, rememberedhearing the rapid thud of Punch's galloping hoofs homeward bound, aswas she, at 5. 45. Yet, barely five minutes thereafter, Angela, whousually spent half an hour splashing in her tub, appeared fullpanoplied, apparently, at the head of the stairs upon her aunt'sarrival, and was even now somewhere down the row, hobnobbing with KateSanders. That Lieutenant Blakely should have missed retreat roll-callwas in itself no very serious matter. "Slept through at his quarters, perhaps, " said Plume. "He'll turn up in time for dinner. " In fine themajor's indifference struck the captain as an evidence of officialweakness, reprehensible in a commander charged with the discipline ofa force on hostile soil. What Wren intended was that Plume should beimpressed by his formal word and manner, and direct the adjutant tolook up the derelict instanter. As no such action was taken, however, he felt it due to himself to speak again. A just man was Wren, andfaithful to the core in his own discharge of duty. What he could notabide was negligence on part of officer or man, on part of superior orinferior, and he sought to "stiffen" Plume forthwith. 

"If he isn't in his quarters, shall I send a party out in search, sir?"

"Who? Blakely? Dear, no, Wren! What for?" returned the post commander, obviously nettled. "I fancy he'll not thank you for even searching hisquarters. You may stumble over his big museum in the dark and smashthings. No, let him alone. If he isn't here for dinner, I'll 'tend toit myself. "

And so, rebuffed, as it happened, by an officer much his inferior inpoint of experience and somewhat in years, Wren silently and stifflysaluted and turned away. Virtually he had been given to understandthat his suggestion was impertinent. He reached his quarters, therefore, in no pleasant mood, and found his sister waiting for himwith Duty in her clear and shining eyes. 

A woman of many a noble trait was Janet Wren, --a woman who had done aworld of good to those in sickness, sorrow, or other adversity, awoman of boundless faith in herself and her opinions, but not too muchhope or charity for others. The blood of the Scotch Covenanters wasin her veins, for her mother had been born and bred in the shadow ofthe kirk and lived and died in the shadow of the cross. A woman with amission was Janet, and one who went at it unflinchingly. She had lovedher brother always, yet disapproved his marriage to so young andunformed a woman as was his wife. Later, she had deprecated from thestart the soldier spirit, fierce in his Highland blood, that tore himfrom the teachings of their gentle mother and her beloved meenister, took him from his fair young wife when most she needed him and senthim straightway into the ranks of the one Highland regiment in theUnion Army at the outbreak of the Civil War. His gallant colonel fellat First Bull Run, and Sergeant Wren fought over his body to thefervent admiration of the Southerners who captured both. The first WarSecretary, mourning a beloved brother and grateful to his defender, commissioned the latter in the regulars at once and, on his returnfrom Libby, Wren joined the army as a first lieutenant. With genuineScottish thrift, his slender pay had been hoarded for him, and his nowmotherless little one, by that devoted sister, and when, a captain atthe close of the war, he came to clasp his daughter to his heart, hefound himself possessed of a few hundreds more than fell to the lot ofmost of his associates. It was then that Janet, motherless herself, had stepped into the management of her brother's army home, and soughtto dominate in that as she had in everything else from early girlhood. Wren loved her fondly, but he, too, had a will. They had many aclash. It was this, indeed, that led to Angela's going so early to anEastern school. We are all paragons of wisdom in the management ofother people's children. It is in dealing with our own our limitationsare so obvious. Fond as she had become of Angela's sweet young mother, it must be owned that whom Janet loved in this way she oftenchastened. Neighbors swore it was not grief, nor illness, half so muchas sister-in-law, that wore the gentle spirit to the snapping-point. The great strong heart of the soldier was well-nigh broken at hisloss, and Janet, who had never seen him shed a tear since earlyboyhood, stood for once, at least, in awe and trembling at sight ofhis awful grief. Time and nature played their part and brought him, gradually, resignation, but never genuine solace. He turned to littleAngela with almost passionate love and tenderness. He would, mayhap, have spoiled her had not frontier service kept him so much afield thatit was Janet who really reared her, --but not according to the strictletter of her law. Wren knew well what that was and forbade. 

Misfortunes came to Janet Wren while yet a comely woman ofthirty-five. She could have married, and married well, a comradecaptain in her brother's regiment; but him, at least, she held to beher own, and, loving him with genuine fervor and devotion, she soughtto turn him in all things to her serious views of life, its manifoldduties and responsibilities. She had her ideal of what a man shouldbe--a monarch among other men, but one knowing no God but her God, nocreed but her creed, no master but Duty, no mistress but herself, andno weakness whatsoever. A braver, simpler, kinder soul than hercaptain there dwelt not in the service of his country, but he lovedhis pipe, his song, his dogs, his horses, his troop, and certainsoldier ways that, during his convalescence from wounds, she had nothad opportunity to observe. She had nursed him back to life and loveand, unwittingly, to his former harmless habits. These all she wouldhave had him forswear, not for her sake so much, she said, but becausethey were in themselves sinful and beneath him. She sought to trainhim down too fine for the rugged metal of the veteran soldier, and thefabric snapped in her hands. She had sent him forth sore-hearted overher ceaseless importunity. She had told him he must not only give upall his ways, but, if he would make her happy, he must put the wordsof Ruth into his mouth, and that ended it. He transferred into anothercorps when she broke with him; carried his sore heart to the Southernplains, and fell in savage battle within another month. 

Not long thereafter her little fortune, invested according to theviews of a spiritual rather than a temporal adviser, --and much againsther brother's wishes, --went the way of riches that have wings, andnow, dependent solely upon him, welcomed to his home and fireside, shenevertheless strove to dominate as of yore. He had had to tell herAngela could not and should not be subjected to such restraints as thesister would have prescribed, but so long as he was the sole victimhe whimsically bore it without vehement protest. "Convert me all youcan, Janet, dear, " he said, "but don't try to reform the wholeregiment. It's past praying for. "

Now, when other women whispered to her that while Mrs. Plume had beena belle in St. Louis and Mr. Blakely a young society beau, themagnitude of their flirtation had well-nigh stopped her marriage, MissWren saw opportunity for her good offices and, so far from avoiding, she sought the society of the major's brooding wife. She even felt atwinge of disappointment when the young officer appeared, and afterthe initial thirty-six hours under the commander's roof, rarely wentthither at all. She knew her brother disapproved of him, and thoughtit to be because of moral, not military, obliquity. She saw withinstant apprehension his quick interest in Angela and the child'salmost unconscious response. With the solemn conviction of the maidenwho, until past the meridian, had never loved, she looked on Angela asfar too young and immature to think of marrying, yet too shallow, vainand frivolous, too corrupted, in fact, by that pernicious societyschool--not to shrink from flirtations that might mean nothing to theman but would be damnation to the girl. Even the name of this big, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young votary of science had much about it thatmade her fairly bristle, for she had once been described as an"austere vestal" by Lieutenant Blake, of the regiment preceding themat Sandy, the ----th Cavalry--and a mutual friend had told her allabout it--another handicap for Blakely. She had grown, it must beadmitted, somewhat gaunt and forbidding in these later years, a thingthat had stirred certain callow wits to differentiate between theMisses Wren as Angela and Angular, which, hearing, some few womenreproved but all repeated. Miss Wren, the sister, was in fine a womanwidely honored but little sought. It was Angela that all Camp Sandywould have met with open arms. 

"R-r-robert, " began Miss Wren, as the captain unclasped his saber beltand turned it over to Mickel, his German "striker. " She would haveproceeded further, but he held up a warning hand. He had come homewardangering and ill at ease. Disliking Blakely from the first, a"ballroom soldier, " as he called him, and alienated from him later, hehad heard still further whisperings of the devotions of a chieftain'sdaughter at the agency, above all, of the strange infatuation of themajor's wife, and these had warranted, in his opinion, warning wordsto his senior subaltern in refusing that gentleman's request to ridewith Angela. "I object to any such attentions--to any meetingswhatsoever, " said he, but sooner than give the real reason, addedlamely, "My daughter is too young. " Now he thought he saw impendingduty in his sister's somber eyes and poise. He knew it when she beganby rolling her r's--it was so like their childhood's spiritual guideand mentor, MacTaggart, erstwhile of the "Auld Licht" persuasion, anda power. 

"Wait a bit, Janet, " said he. "Mickel, get my horse and tell SergeantStrang to send me a mounted orderly. " Then, as Mickel dropped thesaber in the open doorway and departed, he turned upon her. 

"Where's Angela?" said he, "and what was she doing out after recall?The stable sergeant says 'twas six when Punch came home. "

"R-r-robert, it is of that I wish to speak to you, and before shecomes to dinner. Hush! She's coming now. "

Down the row of shaded wooden porticos, at the major's next door, atDr. Graham's, the Scotch surgeon and Wren's especial friend and crony, at the Lynns' and Sanders's beyond, little groups of women andchildren in cool evening garb, and officers in white, were gathered inmerry, laughing chat. Nowhere, save in the eyes of one woman at thecommanding officer's, and here at Wren's, seemed there anythingominous in the absence of this officer so lately come to join them. The voice of Angela, glad and ringing, fell upon the father's ears insudden joy. Who could associate shame or subterfuge with tones socharged with merriment? The face of Angela, coming suddenly round thecorner from the side veranda, beamed instantly upon him, sweet, trusting and welcoming, then slowly shadowed at sight of the setexpression about his mouth, and the rigid, uncompromising, determinedsorrow in the features of her aunt. 

Before she could utter a word, the father questioned:

"Angela, my child, have you seen Mr. Blakely this afternoon?"

One moment her big eyes clouded, but unflinchingly they met his gaze. Then, something in the stern scrutiny of her aunt's regard stirred allthat was mutinous within her; yet there was an irrepressible twitchingabout the corners of the rosy mouth, a twinkle about the big browneyes that should have given them pause, even as she demurely answered:

"Yes. "

"When?" demanded the soldier, his muscular hand clutching ominously atthe wooden rail; his jaw setting squarely. "When--and where?"

But now the merriment with which she had begun changed slowly at sightof the repressed fury in his rugged Gaelic face. She, too, wastrembling as she answered:

"Just after recall--down at the pool. "

For an instant he stood glaring, incredulous. "At the pool! You! Mybairnie!" Then, with sudden outburst of passionate wrath, "Go to yourroom!" said he. 

"But listen--father, dear, " she began, imploringly. For answer heseized her slender arm in almost brutal grasp and fairly hurled herwithin the doorway. "Not a word!" he ground between his clinchedteeth. "Go instantly!" Then, slamming the door upon her, he whirledabout as though to seek his sister's face, and saw beyond her, rounding the corner of the northwest set of quarters, coming in fromthe _mesa_ roadway at the back, the tall, white figure of the missingman. 

Another moment and Lieutenant Blakely, in the front room of hisquarters, looking pale and strange, was being pounced upon with eagerquestioning by Duane, his junior, when the wooden steps and verandacreaked under a quick, heavy, ominous tread, and, with livid face andclinching hands, the troop commander came striding in. 

"Mr. Blakely, " said he, his voice deep with wrath and tremulous withpassion, "I told you three days ago my daughter and you must not meet, and--you know why! To-day you lured her to a rendezvous outside thepost--"

"Captain Wren!"

"Don't lie! I say you lured her, for my lass would never have metyou--"

"You shall _un_say it, sir, " was Blakely's instant rejoinder. "Are youmad--or what? I never set eyes on your daughter to-day--until a momentago. "

And then the voice of young Duane was uplifted, shouting for help. With a crash, distinctly heard out on the parade, Wren had struck hisjunior down. 

CHAPTER III

MOCCASIN TRACKS

When Mr. Blakely left the post that afternoon he went afoot. When hereturned, just after the sounding of retreat, he came in saddle. Purposely he avoided the road that led in front of the long line ofofficers' quarters and chose instead the water-wagon track along therear. People among the laundresses' quarters, south of the _mesa_ onwhich stood the quadrangular inclosure of Camp Sandy, eyed himcuriously as he ambled through on his borrowed pony; but he lookedneither to right nor left and hurried on in obvious discomposure. Hewas looking pale and very tired, said the saddler sergeant's wife, anhour later, when all the garrison was agog with the story of Wren'smad assault. He never seemed to see the two or three soldiers, men offamily, who rose and saluted as he passed, and not an officer in theregiment was more exact or scrupulous in his recognition of suchsoldier courtesy as Blakely had ever been. They wondered, therefore, at his strange abstraction. They wondered more, looking after him, when, just as his stumbling pony reached the crest, the rider reinedhim in and halted short in evident embarrassment. They could not seewhat he saw--two young girls in gossamer gowns of white, with armsentwining each other's waists, their backs toward him, slowly pacingnorthward up the _mesa_ and to the right of the road. Some old croquetarches, balls, and mallets lay scattered about, long since abandonedto dry rot and disuse, and, so absorbed were the damsels in theirconfidential chat, --bubbling over, too, with merry laughter, --theygave no heed to these until one, the taller of the pair, catching herslippered foot in the stiff, unyielding wire, plunged forward andfell, nearly dragging her companion with her. Blakely, who had hungback, drove his barbless heels into the pony's flanks, sent himlurching forward, and in less than no time was out of saddle andaiding her to rise, laughing so hard she, for a moment, could notspeak or thank him. Save to flowing skirt, there was not the faintestdamage, yet his eyes, his voice, his almost tremulous touch were allsuggestive of deep concern, before, once more mounting, he raised hisbroad-brimmed hat and bade them reluctant good-night. Kate Sanders ranscurrying home an instant later, but Angela's big and shining eyesfollowed him every inch of the way until he once more dismounted atthe upper end of the row and, looking back, saw her and waved his hat, whereat she ran, blushing, smiling, and not a little wondering, flustered and happy, into the gallery of their own quarters and theimmediate presence of her father. Blakely, meanwhile, had summoned hisservant:

"Take this pony at once to Mr. Hart, " said he, "and say I'll be backagain as soon as I've seen the commanding officer. "

When Downs, the messenger, returned to the house about half an hourlater, it was to find his master prostrate and bleeding on the bed inhis room, Dr. Graham and the hospital attendant working over him, themajor and certain of his officers, with gloomy faces and mutteringtongues, conferring on the piazza in front, and one of thelieutenant's precious cases of bugs and butterflies a wreck ofshattered glass. More than half the officers of the post were present. A bevy of women and girls had gathered in the dusk some distance downthe row. The wondering Milesian whispered inquiry of silent soldierslingering about the house, but the gruff voice of Sergeant Clancy badethem go about their business. Not until nearly an hour later was itgenerally known that Captain Wren had been escorted to his quarters bythe post adjutant and ordered to remain therein in close arrest. 

If some older and more experienced officer than Duane had been thereperhaps the matter would not have proved so tragic, but the latter wasutterly unstrung by Wren's furious attack and the unlooked-for result. Without warning of any kind, the burly Scot had launched his big fiststraight at Blakely's jaw, and sent the slender, still fever-weakenedform crashing through a case of specimens, reducing it to splintersthat cruelly cut and tore the bruised and senseless face. A corporalof the guard, marching his relief in rear of the quarters at themoment, every door and window being open, heard the crash, the wildcry for help, rushed in, with his men at his heels, and found thecaptain standing stunned and ghastly, with the sweat starting from hisbrow, staring down at the result of his fearful work. From the frontCaptain Sanders and his amazed lieutenant came hurrying. Together theylifted the stricken and bleeding man to his bed in the back room andstarted a soldier for the doctor on the run. The sight of this man, speeding down the row, bombarded all the way with questions he couldnot stop to answer, startled every soul along that westward-facingfront, and sent men and women streaming up the line toward Blakely'squarters at the north end. The doctor fairly brushed them from hispath and Major Plume had no easy task persuading the tearful, pallidgroups of army wives and daughters to retire to the neighboringquarters. Janet Wren alone refused point-blank. She would not gowithout first seeing her brother. It was she who took the arm of theawed, bewildered, shame-and conscience-stricken man and led him, withbowed and humbled head, the adjutant aiding on the other side, back tothe door he had so sternly closed upon his only child, and that now assummarily shut on him. Dr. Graham had pronounced the young officer'sinjuries serious, and the post commander was angry to the very core. 

One woman there was who, with others, had aimlessly hastened up theline, and who seemed now verging on hysterics--the major's wife. Itwas Mrs. Graham who rebukefully sent her own braw young broodscurrying homeward through the gathering dusk, and then possessedherself of Mrs. Plume. "The shock has unnerved you, " she charitably, soothingly whispered: "Come away with me, " but the major's wiferefused to go. Hart, the big post trader, had just reached the spot, driving up in his light buckboard. His usually jovial face was full ofsympathy and trouble. He could not believe the news, he said. Mr. Blakely had been with him so short a time beforehand and was comingdown again at once, so Downs, the striker, told him, when some soldierran in to say the lieutenant had been half killed by Captain Wren. Plume heard him talking and came down the low steps to meet and conferwith him, while the others, men and women, listened eagerly, expectantof developments. Then Hart became visibly embarrassed. Yes, Mr. Blakely had come up from below and begged the loan of a pony, sayinghe must get to the post at once to see Major Plume. Hadn't he seen themajor? No! Then Hart's embarrassment increased. Yes, something hadhappened. Blakely had told him, and in fact they--he--all of them hadsomething very important on hand. He didn't know what to do now, withMr. Blakely unable to speak, and, to the manifest disappointment ofthe swift-gathering group, Hart finally begged the major to step asidewith him a moment and he would tell him what he knew. All eyesfollowed them, then followed the major as he came hurrying back withheightened color and went straight to Dr. Graham at the sufferer'sside. "Can I speak with him? Is he well enough to answer a question ortwo?" he asked, and the doctor shook his head. "Then, by the Lord, I'll have to wire to Prescott!" said Plume, and left the room atonce. "What is it?" feebly queried the patient, now half-conscious. But the doctor answered only "Hush! No talking now, Mr. Blakely, " andbade the others leave the room and let him get to sleep. 

But tattoo had not sounded that still and starlit evening when astrange story was in circulation about the post, brought up from thetrader's store by pack-train hands who said they were there when Mr. Blakely came in and asked for Hart--"wanted him right away, bad, " wasthe way they put it. Then it transpired that Mr. Blakely had found nosport at bug-hunting and had fallen into a doze while waiting forwinged insects, and when he woke it was to make a startlingdiscovery--his beautiful Geneva watch had disappeared from one pocketand a flat note case, carried in an inner breast pocket of his whiteduck blouse, and containing about one hundred dollars, was also gone. Some vagrant soldier, possibly, or some "hard-luck outfit" ofprospectors, probably, had come upon him sleeping, and had made waywith his few valuables. Two soldiers had been down stream, fishing forwhat they called Tonto trout, but they were looked up instantly andproved to be men above suspicion. Two prospectors had been at Hart's, nooning, and had ridden off down stream toward three o'clock. _There_was a clew worth following, and certain hangers-on about the trader's, "layin' fer a job, " had casually hinted at the prospect of a game downat Snicker's--a ranch five miles below. Here, too, was something worthinvestigating. If Blakely had been robbed, as now seemed more thanlikely, Camp Sandy felt that the perpetrator must still be close athand and of the packer or prospector class. 

But before the ranks were broken, after the roll-call, then invariablyheld at half-past nine, Hart came driving back in a buckboard, with alantern and a passenger, the latter one of the keenest trailers amongthe sergeants of Captain Sanders' troop, and Sanders was with themajor as the man sprang from the wagon and stood at salute. 

"Found anything, sergeant?" asked Plume. 

"Not a boot track, sir, but the lieutenant's own. "

"No tracks at all--in that soft sand!" exclaimed the major, disappointed and unbelieving. His wife had come slowly forward fromwithin doors, and, bending slightly toward them, stood listening. 

"No boot tracks, sir. There's others though--Tonto moccasins!"

Plume stood bewildered. "By Jove! I never thought of that!" said he, turning presently on his second troop commander. "But who ever heardof Apaches taking a man's watch and leaving--him?"

"If the major will look, " said the sergeant, quietly producing ascouting notebook such as was then issued by the engineer department, "I measured 'em and made rough copies here. There was _two_, sir. Bothcame, both went, by the path through the willows up stream. We didn'thave time to follow. One is longer and slimmer than the other. If Imay make so bold, sir, I'd have a guard down there to-night to keeppeople away; otherwise the tracks may be spoiled before morning. "

"Take three men and go yourself, " said the major promptly. "Seeanything of any of the lieutenant's property? Mr. Hart told you, didn't he?" Plume was studying the sergeant's pencil sketches, by thelight of the trader's lantern, as he spoke, a curious, puzzled look onhis soldierly face. 

"Saw where the box had lain in the sand, sir, but no trace of thenet, " and Sergeant Shannon was thinking less of these matters than ofhis sketches. There was something he thought the major ought to see, and presently he saw. 

"Why, sergeant, these may be Tonto moccasin tracks, but not grownmen's. They are mere boys, aren't they?"

"Mere girls, sir. "

There was a sound of rustling skirts upon the bare piazza. Plumeglanced impatiently over his shoulder. Mrs. Plume had vanished intothe unlighted hallway. 

"That would account for their taking the net, " said he thoughtfully, "but what on earth would the guileless Tonto maiden do with a watch orwith greenbacks? They wouldn't dare show with them at the agency! Howfar did you follow the tracks?"

"Only a rod or two. Once in the willows they can't well quit them tillthey reach the shallows above the pool, sir. We can guard thereto-night and begin trailing at dawn. "

"So be it then!" and presently the conference closed. 

Seated on the adjoining gallery, alone and in darkness, stricken andsorrowing, a woman had been silently observant of the meeting, andhad heard occasional snatches of the talk. Presently she rose; softlyentered the house and listened at a closed door on the northwardside--Captain Wren's own room. An hour previous, tortured between hisown thoughts and her well-meant, but unwelcome efforts to cheer him, he had begged to be left alone, and had closed his door against allcomers. 

Now, she as softly ascended the narrow stairway and paused for amoment at another door, also closed. Listening a while, she knocked, timidly, hesitatingly, but no answer came. After a while, noiselessly, she turned the knob and entered. 

A dim light was burning on a little table by the white bedside. Along, slim figure, white-robed and in all the abandon of girlishgrief, was lying, face downward, on the bed. Tangled masses of hairconcealed much of the neck and shoulders, but, bending over, Miss Wrencould partially see the flushed and tear-wet cheek pillowed on oneslender white arm. Exhausted by long weeping, Angela at last haddropped to sleep, but the little hand that peeped from under thethick, tumbling tresses still clung to an odd and unfamiliarobject--something the older woman had seen only at a distancebefore--something she gazed at in startled fascination this strangeand solemn night--a slender, long-handled butterfly net of filmygauze. 

CHAPTER IV

A STRICKEN SENTRY

Sentry duty at Camp Sandy along in '75 had not been allowed to beartoo heavily on its little garrison. There was nothing worth stealingabout the place, said Plume, and no pawn-shop handy. Of course therewere government horses and mules, food and forage, arms andammunition, but these were the days of soldier supremacy in that aridand distant land, and soldiers had a summary way of settling withmarauders that was discouraging to enterprise. Larceny was thereforelittle known until the law, with its delays and circumventions, tookroot in the virgin soil, and people at such posts as Sandy seldom shutand rarely locked their doors, even by night. Windows were closed andblanketed by day against the blazing sun and torrid heat, but, soonafter nightfall, every door and window was usually opened wide andoften kept so all the night long, in order that the cooler air, settling down from _mesa_ and mountain, might drift through every roomand hallway, licking up the starting dew upon the smooth, roundedsurface of the huge _ollas_, the porous water jars that hung suspendedon every porch, and wafting comfort to the heated brows of the lightlycovered sleepers within. Pyjamas were then unknown in army circles, else even the single sheet that covered the drowsing soldier mighthave been dispensed with. 

Among the quarters occupied by married men, both in officers' row andSudsville under the plateau, doors were of little account in acommunity where the only intruder to be feared was heat, and so it hadresulted that while the corrals, stables, and storehouses had theirguards, only a single sentry paced the long length of the eastwardside of the post, a single pair of eyes and a single rifle barrelbeing deemed amply sufficient to protect against possible prowlers therear yards and entrances of the row. The westward front of theofficers' homes stood in plain view, on bright nights at least, of thesentry at the guard-house, and needed no other protector. On darknights it was supposed to look out for itself. 

A lonely time of it, as a rule, had No. 5, the "backyard sentry, " butthis October night he lacked not for sensation. Lights burned untilvery late in many of the quarters, while at Captain Wren's andLieutenant Blakely's people were up and moving about until long aftermidnight. Of course No. 5 had heard all about the dreadful affair ofthe early evening. What he and his fellows puzzled over was theprobable cause of Captain Wren's furious assault upon his subaltern. Many a theory was afloat, Duane, with unlooked-for discretion, havingheld his tongue as to the brief conversation that preceded the blow. It was after eleven when the doctor paid his last visit for the night, and the attendant came out on the rear porch for a pitcher of coolwater from the _olla_. It was long after twelve when the light in theupstairs room at Captain Wren's was turned low, and for two hoursthereafter, with bowed head, the captain himself paced nervously upand down, wearing in the soft and sandy soil a mournful pathwayparallel with his back porch. It was after three, noted PrivateMullins, of that first relief, when from the rear door of the major'squarters there emerged two forms in feminine garb, and, there being nohindering fences, away they hastened in the dim starlight, pastWren's, Cutler's, Westervelt's, and Truman's quarters until they wereswallowed up in the general gloom about Lieutenant Blakely's. PrivateMullins could not say for certain whether they had entered the reardoor or gone around under the deep shadows of the veranda. When nexthe saw them, fifteen minutes later, coming as swiftly and silentlyback, Mullins was wondering whether he ought not to challenge and havethem account for themselves. His orders were to allow inmates of theofficers' quarters to pass in or out at night without challenge, provided he "recognized them to be such. " Now, Mullins felt morallycertain that these two were Mrs. Plume and Mrs. Plume's vivaciousmaid, a French-Canadian damsel, much admired and sought in soldiercircles at the post, but Mullins had not seen their faces and couldrightfully insist it was his duty and prerogative to do so. Thequestion was, how would the "commanding officer's lady" like and takeit? Mullins therefore shook his head. "I hadn't the nerve, " as heexpressed it, long afterwards. But no such frailty oppressed theoccupant of the adjoining house. Just as the two had reached the rearof Wren's quarters, and were barely fifty steps from safety, thecaptain himself, issuing again from the doorway, suddenly appearedupon the scene, and in low, but imperative tone accosted them. "_Who_are you?" said he, bending eagerly, sternly over them. One quick lookhe gave, and, almost instantly recoiling, exclaimed "Mrs. Plume! Ibeg--" Then, as though with sudden recollection, "No, madam, I do_not_ beg your pardon, " and, turning on his heel, abruptly left them. Without a word, but with the arm of the maid supporting, the tallerwoman sped swiftly across the narrow intervening space and was lostagain within the shadows of her husband's home. 

Private Mullins, silent and probably unseen witness of this episode, slowly tossed his rifle from the port to the shoulder; shook hispuzzled head; stared a moment at the dim figure of Captain Wren againin the starlit morning, nervously tramping up and down his narrowlimit; then mechanically sauntered down the roadway, pondering muchover what he had seen and heard during the brief period of his earlymorning watch. Reaching the south, the lower, end of his post, heturned again. He had but ten minutes left of his two-hour tramp. Thesecond relief was due to start at 3. 30, and should reach him at 3. 35. He was wondering would the officer of the day "come nosin' round"within that time, asking him his orders, and was everything all righton his post? And had he observed anything unusual? There was CaptainWren, like a caged tiger, tramping up and down behind his quarters. At least he had been, for now he had disappeared. There were, orrather had been, the two ladies in long cloaks flitting in the shadowsfrom the major's quarters to those of the invalid lieutenant. Mullinscertainly did not wish to speak about them to any official visitor, whatever he might whisper later to Norah Shaughnessy, the saddlersergeant's daughter--Norah, who was nurse girl at the Trumans', andknew all the ins and outs of social life at Sandy--Norah, at whosewindow, under the north gable, he gazed with love in his eyes as hemade his every round. He was a good soldier, was Mullins, but gladthis night to get off post. Through the gap between the second andthird quarters he saw the lights at the guard-house and could faintlysee the black silhouette of armed men in front of them. The relief wasforming sharp on time, and presently Corporal Donovan would bebringing Trooper Schultz, of "C" Troop, straight across the parade insearch of him. The major so allowed his sentry on No. 5 to be relievedat night. Mullins thanked the saints with pious fervor that no moreladies would be like to flit across his vision, that night at least, when, dimly through the dusk, against the spangled northern sky, hesighted another figure crouching across the upper end of his post andmaking straight for the lighted entrance at the rear of thelieutenant's quarters. Someone else, then, had interest atBlakely's--someone coming stealthily from without. A minute latercertain wakeful ears were startled by a moaning cry for aid. 

Just what happened, and how it happened, within the minute, led toconflicting stories on the morrow. First man examined by Major Plumewas Lieutenant Truman of the Infantry, who happened to be officer ofthe day. He had been over at Blakely's about midnight, he said; hadfound the patient sleeping under the influence of soothing medicine, and, after a whispered word with Todd, the hospital attendant, hadtiptoed out again, encountering Downs, the lieutenant's striker, inthe darkness on the rear porch. Downs said he was that excited hecouldn't sleep at all, and Mr. Truman had come to the conclusion thatDowns's excitement was due, in large part, to local influences totallydisconnected with the affairs of the early evening. Downs was anIrishman who loved the "craytur, " and had been known to resort tounconventional methods of getting it. At twelve o'clock, said Mr. Truman, the striker had obviously been priming. Now Plume's standingorders were that no liquor should be sold to Downs at the store andnone to other soldiers except in "pony" glasses and for use on thespot. None could be carried away unconsumed. The only legitimatespirits, therefore, to which Downs could have access were those inBlakely's locked closet--spirits hitherto used only in thepreservation of specimens, and though probably not much worse than thewhisky sold at the store, disdainfully referred to by votaries as"Blakely's bug juice. " Mr. Truman, therefore, demanded of Downs thepossession of the lieutenant's keys, and, with aggrieved dignity ofmien, Downs had referred him to the doctor, whose suspicions had beenearlier aroused. Intending to visit his sentries after the change ofguard at 1. 30, Truman had thrown himself into a reclining chair in hislittle parlor, while Mrs. Truman and the little Trumans slumberedpeacefully aloft. After reading an hour or so the lieutenant fell intoa doze from which he awoke with a start. Mrs. Truman was bending overhim. Mrs. Truman had been aroused by hearing voices in cautious, yetexcited, colloquy in the shadows of Blakely's back porch. She feltsure that Downs was one and thought from the sound that he must beintoxicated, so Truman shuffled out to see, and somebody, bendingdouble in the dusk, scurried away at his approach. He heard ratherthan saw. But there was Downs, at least, slinking back into the house, and him Truman halted and accosted. "Who was that with you?" he asked, and Downs thickly swore he hadn't seen a soul. But all the while Downswas clumsily stuffing something into a side pocket, and Truman, seizing his hand, dragged it forth into the light. It was one of thehospital six-ounce bottles, bearing a label indicative of glycerinelotion, but the color of the contained fluid belied the label. A sniffwas sufficient. "Who gave you this whisky?" was the next demand, andDowns declared 'twas a hospital "messager" that brought it over, thinking the lieutenant might need it. Truman, filled with wrath, haddragged Downs into the dimly lighted room to the rear of that in whichlay Lieutenant Blakely, and was there upbraiding and investigatingwhen startled by the stifled cry that, rising suddenly on the nightfrom the open _mesa_ just without, had so alarmed so many in thegarrison. Of what had led to it he had then no more idea than thedead. 

Corporal Donovan, next examined, said he was marching Schultz over torelieve Mullins on No. 5, just after half-past three, and heading forthe short cut between the quarters of Captains Wren and Cutler, whichwas about where No. 5 generally met the relief, when, just as theywere halfway between the flagstaff and the row, Schultz began to limpand said there must be a pebble in his boot. So they halted. Schultzkicked off his boot and shook it upside down, and, while he wastugging at it again, they both heard a sort of gurgling, gasping cryout on the _mesa_. Of course Donovan started and ran that way, leavingSchultz to follow, and, just back of Captain Westervelt's, the thirdhouse from the northward end, he almost collided with LieutenantTruman, officer of the day, who ordered him to run for Dr. Graham andfetch him up to Lieutenant Blakely's quick. So of what had taken placehe, too, was ignorant until later. 

It was the hospital attendant, Todd, whose story came next and broughtPlume to his feet with consternation in his eyes. Todd said he hadbeen sitting at the lieutenant's bedside when, somewhere about threeo'clock, he had to go out and tell Downs to make less noise. Downs wascompletely upset by the catastrophe to his officer and, somehow, hadgot a few comforting drinks stowed away, and these had started him tosinging some confounded Irish keen that grated on Todd's nerves. Hewas afraid it would disturb the patient and he was about to go outand remonstrate when the singing stopped and presently he heardDowns's voice in excited conversation. Then a woman's voice in low, urgent, persuasive whisper became faintly audible, and this surprisedTodd beyond expression. He had thought to go and take a look and seewho it could be, when there was a sudden swish of skirts and scurry offeet, and then Mr. Truman's voice was heard. Then there was some kindof sharp talk from the lieutenant to Downs, and then, in a sort of alull, there came that uncanny cry out on the _mesa_, and, stoppingonly long enough to see that the lieutenant was not roused ordisturbed, Todd hastened forth. One or two dim figures, dark andshadowy, were just visible on the eastward _mesa_, barely ten pacesaway, and thither the attendant ran. Downs, lurching heavily, was justahead of him. Together they came upon a little group. Somebody wentrunning southward--Lieutenant Truman, as Todd learned later--hurryingfor the doctor. A soldier equipped as a sentry lay moaning on thesand, clasping a bloody hand to his side, and over him, stern, silent, but agitated, bent Captain Wren. 

CHAPTER V

THE CAPTAIN'S DEFIANCE

Within ten minutes of Todd's arrival at the spot the soft sands of the_mesa_ were tramped into bewildering confusion by dozens of trooperboots. The muffled sound of excited voices, so soon after thestartling affair of the earlier evening, and hurrying footfallsfollowing, had roused almost every household along the row and broughtto the spot half the officers on duty at the post. A patrol of theguard had come in double time, and soldiers had been sent at speed tothe hospital for a stretcher. Dr. Graham had lost no moment of time inreaching the stricken sentry. Todd had been sent back to Blakely'sbedside and Downs to fetch a lantern. They found the latter, fiveminutes later, stumbling about the Trumans' kitchen, weeping for thatwhich was lost, and the sergeant of the guard collared and cuffed himover to the guard-house--one witness, at least, out of the way. Atfour o'clock the doctor was working over his exhausted and unconsciouspatient at the hospital. Mullins had been stabbed twice, anddangerously, and half a dozen men with lanterns were hunting about thebloody sands where the faithful fellow had dropped, looking for aweapon or a clew, and probably trampling out all possibility offinding either. Major Plume, through Mr. Doty, his adjutant, had feltit necessary to remind Captain Wren that an officer in close arresthad no right to be away from his quarters. Late in the evening, itseems, Dr. Graham had represented to the post commander that thecaptain was in so nervous and overwrought a condition, and sodistressed, that as a physician he recommended his patient be allowedthe limits of the space adjoining his quarters in which to walk offhis superabundant excitement. Graham had long been the friend ofCaptain Wren and was his friend as well as physician now, even thoughdeploring his astounding outbreak, but Graham had other things todemand his attention as night wore on, and there was no one to speakfor Wren when the young adjutant, a subaltern of infantry, withunnecessary significance of tone and manner, suggested the captain'simmediate return to his proper quarters. Wren bowed his head and wentin stunned and stubborn silence. It had never occurred to him for amoment, when he heard that half-stifled, agonized cry for help, thatthere could be the faintest criticism of his rushing to the sentry'said. Still less had it occurred to him that other significance, anddamning significance, might attach to his presence on the spot, but, being first to reach the fallen man, he was found kneeling over himwithin thirty seconds of the alarm. Not another living creature was insight when the first witnesses came running to the spot. Both Trumanand Todd could swear to that. 

In the morning, therefore, the orderly came with the customarycompliments to say to Captain Wren that the post commander desired tosee him at the office. 

It was then nearly nine o'clock. Wren had had a sleepless night andwas in consultation with Dr. Graham when the summons came. "Ask thatCaptain Sanders be sent for at once, " said the surgeon, as he pressedhis comrade patient's hand. "The major has his adjutant and clerk andpossibly some other officers. You should have at least one friend. "

"I understand, " briefly answered Wren, as he stepped to the hallway toget his sun hat. "I wish it might be you. " The orderly was alreadyspeeding back to the office at the south end of the brown rectangle ofadobe and painted pine, but Janet Wren, ministering, according to herlights, to Angela in the little room aloft, had heard the message andwas coming down. Taller and more angular than ever she looked as, withflowing gown, she slowly descended the narrow stairway. 

"I have just succeeded in getting her to sleep, " she murmured. "Shehas been dreadfully agitated ever since awakened by the voices and therunning this morning, and she must have cried herself to sleep lastnight. R-r-r-obert, would it not be well for you to see her when shewakes? She does not know--I could not tell her--that you are underarrest. "

Graham looked more "dour" than did his friend of the line. Privatelyhe was wondering how poor Angela could get to sleep at all with AuntJanet there to soothe her. The worst time to teach a moral lesson, with any hope of good effect, is when the recipient is suffering fromsense of utter injustice and wrong, yet must perforce listen. But itis a favorite occasion with the "ower guid. " Janet thought it would bea long step in the right direction to bring her headstrong niece tothe belief that all the trouble was the direct result of her havingsought, against her father's wishes, a meeting with Mr. Blakely. True, Janet had now some doubt that such had been the case, but, in what shefelt was only stubborn pride, her niece refused all explanation. "Father would not hear me at the time, " she sobbed. "I am condemnedwithout a chance to defend myself or--him. " Yet Janet loved the bonnychild devotedly and would go through fire and water to serve her bestinterests, only those best interests must be as Janet saw them. Thatanything very serious might result as a consequence of her brother'sviolent assault on Blakely, she had never yet imagined. That furthercomplications had arisen which might blacken his record she nevercould credit for a moment. Mullins lay still unconscious, and notuntil he recovered strength was he to talk with or see anyone. Grahamhad given faint hope of recovery, and declared that everythingdepended on his patient's having no serious fever or setback. In a fewdays he might be able to tell his story. Then the mystery as to hisassailant would be cleared in a breath. Janet had taken deep offensethat the commanding officer should have sent her brother into closearrest without first hearing of the extreme provocation. "It is anutterly unheard-of proceeding, " said she, "this confining of anofficer and gentleman without investigation of the affair, " and sheglared at Graham, uncomprehending, when, with impatient shrug of hisbig shoulders, he asked her what had they done, between them, toAngela. It was his wife put him up to saying that, she reasoned, forJanet's Calvinistic dogmas as to daughters in their teens were ever atvariance with the views of her gentle neighbor. If Angela had beenharshly dealt with, undeserving, it was Angela's duty to say so and tosay why, said Janet. Meantime, her first care was her wronged andmisjudged brother. Gladly would she have gone to the office with himand stood proudly by his side in presence of his oppressor, could sucha thing be permitted. She marveled that Robert should now show solittle of tenderness for her who had served him loyally, ifmasterfully, so very long. He merely laid his hand on hers and said hehad been summoned to the commanding officer's, then went forth intothe light and left her. 

Major Plume was seated at his desk, thoughtful and perplexed. Up atregimental headquarters at Prescott Wren was held in high esteem, andthe major's brief telegraphic message had called forth anxious inquiryand something akin to veiled disapprobation. Headquarters could notsee how it was possible for Wren to assault Lieutenant Blakely withoutsome grave reason. Had Plume investigated? No, but that was comingnow, he said to himself, as Wren entered and stood in silence beforehim. 

The little office had barely room for the desks of the commander andhis adjutant and the table on which were spread the files of generalorders from various superior headquarters--regimental, department, division, the army, and the War Secretary. No curtains adorned thelittle windows, front and rear. No rug or carpet vexed the warpingfloor. Three chairs, kitchen pattern, stood against the pine partitionthat shut off the sight, but by no means the hearing, of the threeclerks scratching at their flat-topped desks in the adjoining den. Maps of the United States, of the Military Division of the Pacific, and of the Territory, as far as known and surveyed, hung about thewooden walls. Blue-prints and photographs of scout maps, made by theirpredecessors of the ----th Cavalry in the days of the Crook campaigns, were scattered with the order files about the table. But of pictures, ornamentation, or relief of any kind the gloomy box was destitute asthe dun-colored flat of the parade. Official severity spoke in everyfeature of the forbidding office as well as in those of the majorcommanding. 

There was striking contrast, too, between the man at the desk and theman on the rack before him. Plume had led a life devoid of anxiety orcare. Soldiering he took serenely. He liked it, so long as no gravehardship threatened. He had done reasonably good service at corpsheadquarters during the Civil War; had been commissioned captain inthe regulars in '61, and held no vexatious command at any timeperhaps, until this that took him to far-away Arizona. Plume was agentlemanly fellow and no bad garrison soldier. He really shone onparade and review at such fine stations as Leavenworth and Riley, buthad never had to bother with mountain scouting or long-distance Indianchasing on the plains. He had a comfortable income outside his pay, and when he was wedded, at the end of her fourth season in society, toa prominent, if just a trifle _passée_ belle, people thought him amore than lucky man, until the regiment was sent to Arizona and he toSandy. Gossip said he went to General Sherman with appeal for somedetaining duty, whereupon that bluff and most outspoken warriorexclaimed: "What, what, what! Not want to go with the regiment? Why, here's Blakely begging to be relieved from Terry's staff because he'smad to go. " And this, said certain St. Louis commentators, settled it, for Mrs. Plume declared for Arizona. 

Well garbed, groomed, and fed was Plume, a handsome, soldierly figure. Very cool and placid was his look in the spotless white that even thenby local custom had become official dress for Sandy; but beneath thesnowy surface his heart beat with grave disquiet as he studied thestrong, rugged, somber face of the soldier on the floor. 

Wren was tall and gaunt and growing gray. His face was deeply lined;his close-cropped beard was silver-stranded; his arms and legs werelong and sinewy and powerful; his chest and shoulders burly; hisregimental dress had not the cut and finish of the commander's. Toomuch of bony wrist and hand was in evidence, too little of grace andcurve. But, though he stood rigidly at attention, with all semblanceof respect and subordination, the gleam in his deep-set eyes, thetwitch of the long fingers, told of keen and pent-up feeling, and helooked the senior soldier squarely in the face. A sergeant, standingby the adjutant's desk, tiptoed out into the clerk's room and closedthe door behind him, then set himself to listen. Young Doty, theadjutant, fiddled nervously with his pen and tried to go on signingpapers, but failed. It was for Plume to break the awkward silence, andhe did not quite know how. Captain Westervelt, quietly entering at themoment, bowed to the major and took a chair. He had evidently beensent for. 

"Captain Wren, " presently said Plume, his fingers trembling a bit asthey played with the paper folder, "I have felt constrained to sendfor you to inquire still further into last night's affair--or affairs. I need not tell you that you may decline to answer if you consideryour interests are--involved. I had hoped this painful matter might beso explained as to--as to obviate the necessity of extreme measures, but your second appearance close to Mr. Blakely's quarters, under allthe circumstances, was so--so extraordinary that I am compelled tocall for explanation, if you have one you care to offer. "

For a moment Wren stood staring at his commander in amaze. He hadexpected to be offered opportunity to state the circumstances leadingto his now deeply deplored attack on Mr. Blakely, and to decline theoffer on the ground that he should have been given that opportunitybefore being submitted to the humiliation of arrest. He had intendedto refuse all overtures, to invite trial by court-martial orinvestigation by the inspector general, but by no manner of means toplead for reconsideration now; and here was the post commander, withwhom he had never served until they came to Sandy, a man who hadn'tbegun to see the service, the battles, and campaigns that had fallento his lot, virtually accusing him of further misdemeanor, when he hadonly rushed to save or succor. He forgot all about Sanders or otherwitnesses. He burst forth impetuously:

"Extraordinary, sir! It would have been most extraordinary if I hadn'tgone with all speed when I heard that cry for help. "

Plume looked up in sudden joy. "You mean to tell me you didn't--youweren't there till after--the cry?"

Wren's stern Scottish face was a sight to see. "Of what can youpossibly be thinking, Major Plume?" he demanded, slowly now, for wrathwas burning within him, and yet he strove for self-control. He had hada lesson and a sore one. 

"I will answer that--a little later, Captain Wren, " said Plume, risingfrom his seat, rejoicing in the new light now breaking upon him. Westervelt, too, had gasped a sigh of relief. No man had ever knownWren to swerve a hair's breadth from the truth. "At this moment timeis precious if the real criminal is to be caught at all. You werefirst to reach the sentry. Had you seen no one else?"

In the dead silence that ensued within the room the sputter of hoofswithout broke harshly on the ear. Then came spurred boot heels on thehollow, heat-dried boarding, but not a sound from the lips of CaptainWren. The rugged face, twitching with pent-up indignation the momentbefore, was now slowly turning gray. Plume stood facing him in growingwonder and new suspicion. 

"You heard me, did you not? I asked you did you see anyone elseduring--along the sentry post when you went out?"

A fringed gauntlet reached in at the doorway and tapped. SergeantShannon, straight as a pine, stood expectant of summons to enter andhis face spoke eloquently of important tidings, but the major wavedhim away, and, marveling, he slowly backed to the edge of the porch. 

"Surely you can answer that, Captain Wren, " said Plume, his clear-cut, handsome face filled with mingled anxiety and annoy. "Surely you_should_ answer, or--"

The ellipsis was suggestive, but impotent. After a painful moment camethe response:

"Or--take the consequences, major?" Then slowly--"Very well, sir--Imust take them. "

CHAPTER VI

A FIND IN THE SANDS

The late afternoon of an eventful day had come to camp Sandy--justsuch another day, from a meteorological viewpoint, as that on whichthis story opened nearly twenty-four hours earlier by the shadows onthe eastward cliffs. At Tuesday's sunset the garrison was yawning withthe _ennui_ born of monotonous and uneventful existence. AsWednesday's sunset drew nigh and the mountain shadows overspread thevalley, even to the opposite crests of the distant Mogollon, thegarrison was athrill with suppressed excitement, for half a dozenthings had happened since the flag went up at reveille. 

In the first place Captain Wren's arrest had been confirmed and Plumehad wired department headquarters, in reply to somewhat urgent query, that there were several counts in his indictment of the captain, anyone of which was sufficient to demand a trial by court-martial, but hewished, did Plume, for personal and official reasons that the generalcommanding should send his own inspector down to judge for himself. 

The post sergeant major and the three clerks had heard with sufficientdistinctness every word that passed between the major and the accusedcaptain, and, there being at Sandy some three hundred inquisitivesouls, thirsting for truth and light, it could hardly be expected ofthis quartette that it should preserve utter silence even thoughsilence had been enjoined by the adjutant. It was told all over thepost long before noon that Wren had been virtually accused of beingthe sentry's assailant as well as Lieutenant Blakely's. It waswhispered that, in some insane fury against the junior officer, Wrenhad again, toward 3. 30, breaking his arrest, gone up the row with theidea of once more entering Blakely's house and possibly againattacking him. It was believed that the sentry had seen andinterposed, and that, enraged at being balked by an enlisted man, Wrenhad drawn a knife and stabbed him. True, no knife had been foundanywhere about the spot, and Wren had never been known to carry one. But now a dozen men, armed with rakes, were systematically going overthe ground under the vigilant eye of Sergeant Shannon--Shannon, whohad heard the brief, emphatic interview between the major and thetroop commander and who had been almost immediately sent forth tosupervise this search, despite the fact that he had but just returnedfrom the conduct of another, the result of which he imparted to theears of only two men, Plume, the post commander, and Doty, his amazedand bewildered adjutant. But Shannon had with him a trio of troopers, one of whom, at least, had not been proof against inquisitive probing, for the second sensation of the day was the story that one of the twopairs of moccasin tracks, among the yielding sands of the willowcopse, led from where Mr. Blakely had been dozing to where the ponyPunch had been drowsing in the shade, for there they were lost, as themaker had evidently mounted and ridden away. All Sandy knew that Punchhad no other rider than pretty Angela Wren. 

A third story, too, was whispered in half a dozen homes, and was goingwild about the garrison, to the effect that Captain Wren, when accusedof being Mullins's assailant, had virtually declared that he had seenother persons prowling on the sentry's post and that they, not he, were the guilty ones; but when bidden to name or describe them, Wrenhad either failed or refused; some said one, some said the other, andthe prevalent belief in Sudsville circles, as well as in the barracks, was that Captain Wren was going crazy over his troubles. And now therewere women, ay, and men, too, though they spake with bated breath, whohad uncanny things to say of Angela--the captain's only child. 

And this it was that led to sensation No. 4--a wordy battle of thefirst magnitude between the next-door neighbor of the saddler sergeantand no less a champion of maiden probity than Norah Shaughnessy--thesaddler sergeant's buxom daughter. All the hours since early morningNorah had been in a state of nerves so uncontrollable that Mrs. Truman--who knew of Norah's fondness for Mullins and marveled not thatMullins always preferred the loneliness and isolation of the post onNo. 5--decided toward noon to send the girl home to her mother for aday or so, and Norah thankfully went, and threw herself upon hermother's ample breast and sobbed aloud. It was an hour before shecould control herself, and her agitation was such that others came tominister to her. Of course there was just one explanation--Norah wasin love with Mullins and well-nigh crazed with grief over his untimelytaking off, for later reports from the hospital were most depressing. This, at least, was sufficient explanation until late in theafternoon. Then, restored to partial composure, the girl was sittingup and being fanned in the shade of her father's roof-tree, whenroused by the voice of the next-door neighbor before mentioned--Mrs. Quinn, long time laundress of Captain Sanders's troop and jealous asto Wren's, was telling what _she_ had heard of Shannon's discoveries, opining that both Captain Wren and the captain's daughter deservedinvestigation. "No wan need tell _me_ there was others prowling aboutMullins's post at three in the marnin. ' As for Angela--" But here MissShaughnessy bounded from the wooden settee, and, with amazing vim andvigor, sailed spontaneously into Mrs. Quinn. 

"No wan need tell _you_--ye say! No wan need tell _you_, yeblack-tongued scandlum! Well, then, _I_ tell ye Captain Wren did seeothers prowlin' on poor Pat Mullins's post an' others than him sawthem too. Go you to the meejer, soon as ye like and say _I_ saw them, and if Captain Wren won't tell their names there's them that will. "

The shrill tones of the infuriated girl were plainly audible all overthe flats whereon were huddled the little cabins of log and adobeassigned as quarters to the few married men among the soldiery. Thesewere the halcyon days of the old army when each battery, troop, orcompany was entitled to four laundresses and each laundress to oneration. Old and young, there were at least fifty pairs of ears withineasy range of the battle that raged forthwith, the noise of whichreached even to the shaded precincts of the trader's store threehundred yards away. It was impossible that such a flat-footedstatement as Norah's should not be borne to the back doors of "TheRow" and, repeated then from lip to lip, should soon be told tocertain of the officers. Sanders heard it as he came in from stableduty, and Dr. Graham felt confident that it had been repeated underthe major's roof when at 6 P. M. The post commander desired hisprofessional services in behalf of Mrs. Plume, who had becomeunaccountably, if not seriously, ill. 

Graham had but just returned from a grave conference with Wren, andhis face had little look of the family physician as he reluctantlyobeyed the summons. As another of the auld licht school of ScotchPresbyterians, he also had conceived deep-rooted prejudice to thatfrivolous French aide-de-camp of the major's wife. The girl did danceand flirt and ogle to perfection, and half a dozen strapping sergeantswere now at sword's points all on account of this objectionable Eliza. Graham, of course, had heard with his ears and fathomed with hisunderstanding the first reports of Wren's now famous reply to hiscommanding officer; and though Wren would admit no more to him thanhe had to the major, Graham felt confident that the major's wife wasone of the mysterious persons seen by Wren, and declared by Norah, inthe dim starlight of the early morning, lurking along the post of No. 5. Graham had no doubt that Elise was the other. The man mostconcerned in the case, the major himself, was perhaps the only one atsunset who never seemed to suspect that Mrs. Plume could have been inany way connected with the affair. He met the doctor with a world ofgenuine anxiety in his eyes. 

"My wife, " said he, "is of a highly sensitive organization, and shehas been completely upset by this succession of scandalous affairs. She and Blakely were great friends at St. Louis three years ago;indeed, many people were kind enough to couple their names before ourmarriage. I wish you could--quiet her, " and the sounds from aloft, where madame was nervously pacing her room, gave point to thesuggestion. Graham climbed the narrow stairs and tapped at the northdoor on the landing. It was opened by Elise, whose big, black eyeswere dilated with excitement, while Mrs. Plume, her blonde hairtumbling down her back, her _peignoir_ decidedly rumpled and hergeneral appearance disheveled, was standing in mid-floor, wringing herjeweled hands. "She looks like sixty, " was the doctor's inward remark, "and is probably not twenty-six. "

Her first question jarred upon his rugged senses. 

"Dr. Graham, when will Mr. Blakely be able to see--or read?"

"Not for a day or two. The stitches must heal before the bandages cancome off his eyes. Even then, Mrs. Plume, he should not be disturbed, "was the uncompromising answer. 

"Is that wretch, Downs, sober yet?" she demanded, standing andconfronting him, her whole form quivering with strong, half-suppressedemotion. 

"The wretch is sobering, " answered Graham gravely. "And now, madame, I'll trouble you to take a chair. Do you, " with a glance of grimdisfavor, "need this girl for the moment? If not, she might as wellretire. "

"I need my maid, Dr. Graham, and I told Major Plume distinctly I didnot need you, " was the impulsive reply, as the lady strove against thecalm, masterful grasp he laid on her wrist. 

"That's as may be, Mrs. Plume. We're often blind to our bestinterests. Be seated a moment, then I'll let you tramp the soles ofyour feet off, if you so desire. " And so he practically pulled herinto a chair; Elise, glaring the while, stood spitefully looking on. The antipathy was mutual. 

"You've slept too little of late, Mrs. Plume, " continued the doctor, lucklessly hitting the mark with a home shot instantly resented, forthe lady was on her feet again. 

"Sleep! People do nothing but sleep in this woebegone hole!" shecried. "I've had sleep enough to last a lifetime. What I want is towake--wake out of this horrible nightmare! Dr. Graham, you are afriend of Captain Wren's. What under heaven possessed him, with hisbrutal strength, to assault so sick a man as Mr. Blakely? Whatpossible pretext could he assert?" And again she was straining at herimprisoned hand and seeking to free herself, Graham calmly studyingher the while, as he noted the feverish pulse. Not half an hourearlier he had been standing beside the sick bed of a fair young girl, one sorely weighted now with grave anxieties, yet who lay patient anduncomplaining, rarely speaking a word. They had not told the half ofthe web of accusation that now enmeshed her father's feet, but whathad been revealed to her was more than enough to banish every thoughtof self or suffering and to fill her fond heart with instant andloving care for him. No one, not even Janet, was present during theinterview between father and child that followed. Graham found himlater locked in his own room, reluctant to admit even him, andlingering long before he opened the door; but even then thetear-stains stood on his furrowed face, and the doctor knew he hadbeen sobbing his great heart out over the picture of his child--thechild he had so harshly judged and sentenced, all unheard. Graham hadgone to him, after seeing Angela, with censure on his tongue, but henever spoke the words. He saw there was no longer need. 

"Let the lassie lie still the day, " said he, "with Kate, perhaps, toread to her. Your sister might not choose a cheering book. Thenperhaps we'll have her riding Punch again to-morrow. " But Graham didnot smile when meeting Janet by the parlor door. 

He was thinking of the contrast in these two, his patients, as withprofessional calm he studied the troubled features of the major's wifewhen the voice of Sergeant Shannon was heard in the lower hall, inquiring for the major, and in an instant Plume had joined him. Inthat instant, too, Elise had sped, cat-like, to the door, and Mrs. Plume had followed. Possibly for this reason the major led thesergeant forth upon the piazza and the conversation took place intones inaudible to those within the house; but, in less than a minute, the doctor's name was called and Graham went down. 

"Look at this, " said Plume. "They raked it out of the sand close towhere Mullins was lying. " And the major held forth an object thatgleamed in the last rays of the slanting sunshine. It was Blakely'sbeautiful watch. 

CHAPTER VII

"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT"

The dawn of another cloudless day was breaking and the dim lights atthe guard-house and the hospital burned red and bleary across thesandy level of the parade. The company cooks were already at theirranges, and a musician of the guard had been sent to rouse his fellowsin the barracks, for the old-style reveille still held good at many apost in Arizona, before the drum and fife were almost entirelyabandoned in favor of the harsher bugle, by the infantry of ourscattered little army. Plume loved tradition. At West Point, where hehad often visited in younger days, and at all the "old-time"garrisons, the bang of the morning gun and the simultaneous crash ofthe drums were the military means devised to stir the soldier from hissleep. Then, his brief ablutions were conducted to the accompanimentof the martial strains of the field musicians, alternating the sweetairs of Moore and Burns, the lyrics of Ireland and Auld Reekie, withquicksteps from popular Yankee melodies of the day, winding up with agrand flourish at the foot of the flagstaff, to whose summit the flaghad started at the first alarum; then a rush into rattling "doublequick" that summoned the laggards to scurry into the silently formingranks, and finally, with one emphatic rataplan, the morning concertabruptly closed and the gruff voices of the first sergeants, inswift-running monotone, were heard calling the roll of their shadowycompanies, and, thoroughly roused, the garrison "broke ranks" for thelong routine of the day. 

We have changed all that, and not for the better. A solitary trumpetersteps forth from the guard-house or adjutant's office and, at theappointed time, drones a long, dispiriting strain known to the drillbooks as "Assembly of the Trumpeters, " and to the army at large as"First Call. " Unassisted by other effort, it would rouse nobody, butfrom far and near the myriad dogs of the post--"mongrel, hound, andcur of low degree"--lift up their canine voices in some indefinablesympathy and stir the winds of the morning with their mournful yowls. Then, when all the garrison gets up cursing and all necessity forrousing is ended, the official reveille begins, sounded by thecombined trumpeters, and so, uncheered by concord of sweet sounds, thesoldier begins his day. 

The two infantry companies at Sandy, at the time whereof we tell, were ofan honored old regiment that had fought with Worth at Monterey--one whosescamps of drum boys and fifers had got their teachings from predecessorswhose nimble fingers had trilled the tunes of old under the walls of theBishop's Palace and in the resounding Halls of the Montezumas. Plume andCutler loved their joyous, rhythmical strains, and would gladly have keptthe cavalry clarions for purely cavalry calls; but reveille andguard-mounting were the only ones where this was practicable, and an oddthing had become noticeable. Apache Indians sometimes stopped their ears, and always looked impolite, when the brazen trumpets sounded close at hand;whereas they would squat on the sun-kissed sands and listen in stolid, unmurmuring bliss to every note of the fife and drum. Members of the guardwere always sure of sympathetic spectators during the one regularceremony--guard-mounting--held just after sunset, for the Apache prisonersat the guard-house begged to be allowed to remain without the prison roomuntil a little after the "retreat" visit of the officer of the day, and, roosting along the guard-house porch, to gaze silently forth at the littleband of soldiery in the center of the parade, and there to listen assilently to the music of the fife and drum. The moment it was all over theywould rise without waiting for directions, and shuffle stolidly back totheir hot wooden walls. They had had the one intellectual treat of the day. The savage breast was soothed for the time being, and Plume had come to theconclusion that, aside from the fact that his Indian prisoners were betterfed than when on their native heath, the Indian prison pen at Sandy was notthe place of penance the department commander had intended. Accessionsbecame so frequent; discharges so very few. 

Then there was another symptom: Sentries on the north and east front, Nos. 4 and 5, had been a bit startled at first at seeing, soon afterdawn, shadowy forms rising slowly from the black depths of the valley, hovering uncertainly along the edge of the _mesa_ until they couldmake out the lone figure of the morning watcher, then slowly, cautiously, and with gestures of amity and suppliance, drawinggradually nearer. Sturdy Germans and mercurial Celts were, at thestart, disposed to "shoo" away these specters as being hostile, or atleast incongruous. But officers and men were soon made to see it wasto hear the morning music these children of the desert flocked soearly. The agency lay but twenty miles distant. The reservation linescame no nearer; but the fame of the invader's big maple tom-tom (wewore still the deep, resonant drum of Bunker Hill and Waterloo, ofJemappes, Saratoga, and Chapultepec, not the modern rattle panborrowed from Prussia), and the trill of his magical pipe had spreadabroad throughout Apache land to the end that no higher reward forgood behavior could be given by the agent to his swarthy charges thanthe begged-for _papel_ permitting them, in lumps of twenty, to trudgethrough the evening shades to the outskirts of the soldier castle onthe _mesa_, there to wait the long night through until the softtinting of the eastward heavens and the twitter of the birdlings inthe willows along the stream, gave them courage to begin their timidapproach. 

And this breathless October morning was no exception. The sentry onthe northward line, No. 4, had recognized and passed the post surgeonsoon after four o'clock, hastening to hospital in response to asummons from an anxious nurse. Mullins seemed far too feverish. No. 4as well as No. 5 had noted how long the previous evening Shannon andhis men kept raking and searching about the _mesa_ where Mullins wasstabbed in the early morning, and they were in no mood to allowstrangers to near them unchallenged. The first shadowy forms to showat the edge had dropped back abashed at the harsh reception accordedthem. Four's infantry rifle and Five's cavalry carbine had beenleveled at the very first to appear, and stern voices had said thingsthe Apache could neither translate nor misunderstand. The would-beaudience of the morning concert ducked and waited. With more light thesentry might be more kind. The evening previous six new prisoners hadbeen sent down under strong guard by the agent, swelling the list atSandy to thirty-seven and causing Plume to set his teeth--and an extrasentry. Now, as the dawn grew broader and the light clear and strong, Four and Five were surprised, if not startled, to see that not twenty, but probably forty Apaches, with a sprinkling of squaws, were hoveringall along the _mesa_, mutely watching for the signaled permission tocome in. Five, at least, considered the symptom one of sufficientgravity to warrant report to higher authority, and full ten minutesbefore the time for reveille to begin, his voice went echoing over thearid parade in a long-draw, yet imperative "Corporal of the Gua-a-rd, No. 5!"

Whereat there were symptoms of panic among the dingy white-shirted, dingy white-turbaned watchers along the edge, and a man in snowy whitefatigue coat, pacing restlessly up and down in rear, this time, of themajor's quarters, whirled suddenly about and strode out on the_mesa_, gazing northward in the direction of the sound. It was Plumehimself, and Plume had had a sleepless night. 

At tattoo, by his own act and direction, the major had still furtherstrained the situation. The discovery of Blakely's watch, buriedloosely in the sands barely ten feet from where the sentry fell, hadseemed to him a matter of such significance that, as Graham maintainedan expression of professional gravity and hazarded no explanation, themajor sent for the three captains still on duty, Cutler, Sanders, andWestervelt, and sought their views. One after another each picked upand closely examined the watch, within and without, as thoughexpectant of finding somewhere concealed about its mechanism fullexplanation of its mysterious goings and comings. Then in turn, withlike gravity, each declared he had no theory to offer, unless, saidSanders, Mr. Blakely was utterly mistaken in supposing he had beenrobbed at the pool. Mr. Blakely had the watch somewhere about him whenhe dismounted, and then joggled it into the sands, where it soon wastrampled under foot. Sanders admitted that Blakely was a man not oftenmistaken, and that the loss reported to the post trader of the flatnotebook was probably correct. But no one could be got to see, muchless to say, that Wren was in the slightest degree connected with thetemporary disappearance of the watch. Yet by this time Plume had somesuch theory of his own. 

Sometime during the previous night, along toward morning, he hadsleepily asked his wife, who was softly moving about the room, togive him a little water. The "monkey" stood usually on the windowsill, its cool and dewy surface close to his hand; but he rememberedlater that she did not then approach the window--did not immediatelybring him the glass. He had retired very late, yet was hardlysurprised to find her wide awake and more than usually nervous. Sheexplained by saying Elise had been quite ill, was still suffering, andmight need her services again. She could not think, she said, ofsending for Dr. Graham after all he had had to vex him. It must havebeen quite a long while after, so soundly had Plume slept, when shebent over him and said something was amiss and Mr. Doty was at thefront door waiting for him to come down. He felt oddly numb and heavyand stupid as he hastily dressed, but Doty's tidings, that Mullins hadbeen stabbed on post, pulled him together, as it were, and, merelyrunning back to his room for his canvas shoes, he was speedily at thescene. Mrs. Plume, when briefly told what had happened, had coveredher face with her hands and buried face and all in the pillow, shuddering. At breakfast-time Plume himself had taken her tea andtoast, both mistress and maid being still on the invalid list, and, bending affectionately over her, he had suggested her taking this verylight refreshment and then a nap. Graham, he said, should come andprescribe for Elise. But madame was feverishly anxious. "What will bethe outcome? What will happen to--Captain Wren?" she asked. 

Plume would not say just what, but he would certainly have to standcourt-martial, said he. Mrs. Plume shuddered more. What good wouldthat do? How much better it would be to suppress everything than setsuch awful scandal afloat. The matter was now in the hands of thedepartment commander, said Plume, and would have to take its course. Then, in some way, from her saying how ill the captain was looking, Plume gathered the impression that she had seen him since his arrest, and asked the question point-blank. Yes, she admitted, --from thewindow, --while she was helping Elise. Where was he? What was he doing?Plume had asked, all interest now, for that must have been very late, in fact, well toward morning. "Oh, nothing especial, just looking athis watch, " she thought, "he probably couldn't sleep. " Yes, she wassure he was looking at his watch. 

Then, as luck would have it, late in the day, when the mail came downfrom Prescott, there was a little package for Captain Wren, expressed, and Doty signed the receipt and sent it by the orderly. "What was it?"asked Plume. "His watch, sir, " was the brief answer. "He sent it uplast month for repairs. " And Mrs. Plume at nine that night, knowingnothing of this, yet surprised at her husband's pertinacity, stuck toher story. She was sure Wren was consulting or winding or doingsomething with a watch, and, sorely perplexed and marveling much atthe reticence of his company commanders, who seemed to know somethingthey would not speak of, Wren sent for Doty. He had decided on anotherinterview with Wren. 

Meanwhile "the Bugologist" had been lying patiently in his cot, saying little or nothing, in obedience to the doctor's orders, butthinking who knows what. Duane and Doty occasionally tiptoed in toglance inquiry at the fanning attendant, and then tiptoed out. Mullinshad been growing worse and was a very sick man. Downs, the wretch, waspainfully, ruefully, remorsefully sobered over at the post of theguard, and of Graham's feminine patients the one most in need, perhaps, of his ministration was giving the least trouble. While AuntJanet paced restlessly about the lower floor, stopping occasionally tolisten at the portal of her brother, Angela Wren lay silent and onlysometimes sighing, with faithful Kate Sanders reading in low tone bythe bedside. 

The captains had gone back to their quarters, conferring in subduedvoices. Plume, with his unhappy young adjutant, was seated on theveranda, striving to frame his message to Wren, when the crack of awhip, the crunching of hoofs and wheels, sounded at the north end ofthe row, and down at swift trot came a spanking, four-mule team andConcord wagon. It meant but one thing, the arrival of the general'sstaff inspector straight from Prescott. 

It was the very thing Plume had urged by telegraph, yet the very factthat Colonel Byrne was here went to prove that the chief was far fromsatisfied that the major's diagnosis was the right one. With soldierlyalacrity, however, Plume sprang forward to welcome the comingdignitary, giving his hand to assist him from the dark interior intothe light. Then he drew back in some chagrin. The voice of ColonelByrne was heard, jovial and reassuring, but the face and form first toappear were those of Mr. Wayne Daly, the new Indian agent at theApache reservation. Coming by the winding way of Cherry Creek, thecolonel must have found means to wire ahead, then to pick up thiscivil functionary some distance up the valley, and to have someconference with him before ever reaching the major's bailiwick. Thiswas not good, said Plume. All the same, he led them into his cozy armyparlor, bade his Chinese servant get abundant supper forthwith, and, while the two were shown to the spare room to remove the dust of milesof travel, once more returned to the front piazza and his adjutant. 

"Captain Wren, sir, " said the young officer at once, "begs to beallowed to see Colonel Byrne this evening. He states that his reasonsare urgent. "

"Captain Wren shall have every opportunity to see Colonel Byrne in dueseason, " was the answer. "It is not to be expected that Colonel Byrnewill see him until after he has seen the post commander. Then it willprobably be too late, " and that austere reply, intended to reach theears of the applicant, steeled the Scotchman's heart against hiscommander and made him merciless. 

The "conference of the powers" was indeed protracted until long after10. 30, yet, to Plume's surprise, the colonel at its close said hebelieved he would go, if Plume had no objection, and see Wren inperson and at once. "You see, Plume, the general thinks highly of theold Scot. He has known him ever since First Bull Run and, in fact, Iam instructed to hear what Wren may have to say. I hope you will notmisinterpret the motive. "

"Oh, not at all--not at all!" answered the major, obviously illpleased, however, and already nettled that, against all precedent, certain of the Apache prisoners had been ordered turned out as late as10 P. M. For interview with the agent. It would leave him alone, too, for as much as half an hour, and the very air seemed surcharged withintrigue against the might, majesty, power, and dominion of the postcommander. Byrne, a soldier of the old school, might do his best toconvince the major that in no wise was the confidence of the generalcommanding abated, but every symptom spoke of something to thecontrary. "I should like, too, to see Dr. Graham to-night, " said theofficial inquisitor ere he quitted the piazza to go to Wren's nextdoor. "He will be here to meet you on your return, " said Plume, withjust a bit of stateliness, of ruffled dignity in manner, and turnedonce more within the hallway to summon his smiling Chinaman. 

Something rustling at the head of the stairs caused him to look upquickly. Something dim and white was hovering, drooping, over thebalustrade, and, springing aloft, he found his wife in a half-faintingcondition, Elise, the invalid, sputtering vehemently in French andmaking vigorous effort to pull her away. Plume had left her at 8. 30, apparently sleeping at last under the influence of Graham's medicine. Yet here she was again. He lifted her in his arms and laid her uponthe broad, white bed. "Clarice, my child, " he said, "you _must_ bequiet. You must not leave your bed. I am sending for Graham and hewill come to us at once. "

"I _will_ not see him! He _shall_ not see me!" she burst in wildly. "The man maddens me with his--his insolence. "

"Clarice!"

"Oh, I mean it! He and his brother Scot, between them--they wouldinfuriate a--saint, " and she was writhing in nervous contortions. 

"But, Clarice, how?"

"But, monsieur, no!" interposed Elise, bending over, glass in hand. "Madame will but sip of this--Madame will be tranquil. " And the majorfelt himself thrust aside. "Madame must not talk to-night. It is toomuch. "

But madame would talk. Madame would know where Colonel Byrne was gone, whether he was to be permitted to see Captain Wren and Dr. Graham, andthat wretch Downs. Surely the commanding officer must have _some_rights. Surely it was no time for investigation--_this_ hour of thenight. Five minutes earlier Plume was of the same way of thinking. Nowhe believed his wife delirious. 

"See to her a moment, Elise, " said he, breaking loose from the claspof the long, bejeweled fingers, and, scurrying down the stairs, hecame face to face with Dr. Graham. 

"I was coming for you, " said he, at sight of the rugged, somber face. "Mrs. Plume--"

"I heard--at least I comprehend, " answered Graham, with uplifted hand. "The lady is in a highly nervous state, and my presence does not tendto soothe her. The remedies I left will take effect in time. Leave herto that waiting woman; she best understands her. "

"But she's almost raving, man. I never knew a woman to behave likethat. "

"Ye're not long married, major, " answered Graham. "Come into the air abit, " and, taking his commander's arm, the surgeon swept him up thestarlit row, then over toward the guard-house, and kept him half anhour watching the strange interview between Mr. Daly, the agent, andhalf a dozen gaunt, glittering-eyed Apaches, from whom he was strivingto get some admission or information, with Arahawa, "WashingtonCharley, " as interpreter. One after another the six had shaken theirfrowsy heads. They admitted nothing--knew nothing. 

"What do you make of it all?" queried Plume. 

"Something's wrang at the reservation, " answered Graham. "There mostlyis. Daly thinks there's running to and fro between the Tontos in theSierra Ancha country and his wards above here. He thinks there's moreout than there should be--and more a-going. What'd you find, Daly?" headded, as the agent joined them, mechanically wiping his brow. Moisture there was none. It evaporated fast as the pores exuded. 

"They know well enough, damn them!" said the new official. "But theythink I can be stood off. I'll nail 'em yet--to-morrow, " he added. "But could you send a scout at once to the Tonto basin?" and Dalyturned eagerly to the post commander. 

Plume reflected. Whom could he send? Men there were in plenty, dry-rotting at the post for lack of something to limber their joints;but officers to lead? There was the rub! Thirty troopers, twentyApache Mohave guides, a pack train and one or, at most, two officersmade up the usual complement of such expeditions. Men, mounts, scouts, mules and packers, all, were there at his behest; but, with Wren inarrest, Sanders and Lynn back but a week from a long prod through theBlack Mesa country far as Fort Apache, Blakely invalided and Duane aboy second lieutenant, his choice of cavalry officers was limited. Itnever occurred to him to look beyond. 

"What's the immediate need of a scout?" said he. 

"To break up the traffic that's going on--and the rancherias they musthave somewhere down there. If we don't, I'll not answer for anothermonth. " Daly might be new to the neighborhood, but not to thebusiness. 

"I'll confer with Colonel Byrne, " answered Plume guardedly. And Byrnewas waiting for them, a tall, dark shadow in the black depths of thepiazza. Graham would have edged away and gone to his own den, butPlume held to him. There was something he needed to say, yet could notuntil the agent had retired. Daly saw, --perhaps he had already imbibedsomething of the situation, --and was not slow to seek his room. Plumetook the little kerosene lamp; hospitably led the way; made thecustomary tender of a "night-cap, " and polite regrets he had no iceto offer therewith; left his unwonted guest with courteous good-nightand cast an eye aloft as he came through the hall. All there was darkand still, though he doubted much that Graham's sedatives had yetprevailed. He had left the two men opposite the doorway. He found themat the south end of the piazza, their heads together. Theystraightened up to perfunctory talk about the Medical Director, hisdrastic methods and inflammable ways; but the mirth was forced, thehumor far too dry. Then silence fell. Then Plume invaded it:

"How'd you find Wren--mentally?" he presently asked. He felt that anopening of some kind was necessary. 

"Sound, " was the colonel's answer, slow and sententious. "Of course heis much--concerned. "

"About--his case? Ah, will you smoke, colonel?"

"About Blakely. I believe not, Plume; it's late. "

Plume struck a light on the sole of his natty boot. "One would supposehe would feel very natural anxiety as to the predicament in which hehas placed himself, " he ventured. 

"Wren worries much over Blakely's injuries, which accident made farmore serious than he would have inflicted, major, even had he had thegrounds for violence that he thought he had. Blakely was not the onlysufferer, and is not the only cause, of his deep contrition. Wrentells me that he was even harsher to Angela. But that is all a familymatter. " The colonel was speaking slowly, thoughtfully. 

"But--these later affairs--that Wren couldn't explain--or wouldn't. "Plume's voice and color both were rising. 

"Couldn't is the just word, major, and couldn't especially--to you, "was the significant reply. 

Plume rose from his chair and stood a moment, trembling not a littleand his fingers twitching. "You mean--" he huskily began. 

"I mean this, my friend, " said Byrne gently, as he, too, arose, "and Ihave asked Graham, another friend, to be here--that Wren would notdefend himself to you by even mentioning--others, and might not haverevealed the truth even to me had he been the only one cognizant ofit. But, Plume, _others_ saw what he saw, and what is now known tomany people on the post. Others than Wren were abroad that night. Oneother was being carefully, tenderly brought home--_led_ home--to yourroof. You did not know--Mrs. Plume was a somnambulist?"

In the dead silence that ensued the colonel put forth a pitying handas though to stay and support the younger soldier, the post commander. Plume stood, swaying a bit, and staring. Presently he strove to speak, but choked in the effort. 

"It's the only proper explanation, " said Graham, and between them theyled the major within doors. 

And this is how it happened that he, instead of Wren, was pacingmiserably up and down in the gathering dawn, when the sentry startledall waking Sandy with his cry for the corporal. This is how, far aheadof the corporal, the post commander reached the alarmed soldier, withdemand to know the cause; and, even by the time he came, the cause hadvanished from sight. 

"Apaches, sir, by the dozen, --all along the edge of the _mesa_, "stammered No. 5. He could have convinced the corporal without fear orthought of ridicule, but his voice lacked confidence when he stoodchallenged by his commanding officer. Plume heard with instantsuspicion. He was in no shape for judicial action. 

"Apaches!" This in high disdain. "Trash, man! Because one sentry has ascuffle with some night prowler is the next to lose his nerve? You'rescared by shadows, Hunt. That's what's the matter with you!"

It "brought to" a veteran trooper with a round turn. Hunt had servedhis fourth enlistment, had "worn out four blankets" in the regiment, and was not to be accused of scare. 

"Let the major see for himself, then, " he answered sturdily. "Come inhere, you!" he called aloud. "Come, the whole gang of ye. Theconcert's beginning!" Then, slowly along the eastward edge there beganto creep into view black polls bound with dirty white, black cropsuntrammeled by any binding. Then, swift from the west, came runningfootfalls, the corporal with a willing comrade or two, wondering wasFive in further danger. There, silent and regretful, stood the postcommander, counting in surprise the score of scarecrow forms nowplainly visible, sitting, standing, or squatting along the _mesa_edge. Northernmost in view, nearly opposite Blakely's quarters, weretwo, detached from the general assembly, yet clinging closetogether--two slender figures, gowned, and it was at these the agentDaly was staring, as he, too, came running to the spot. 

"Major Plume, " cried he, panting, "I want those girls arrested, atonce!"

CHAPTER VIII

"APACHE KNIVES DIG DEEP!"

At five o'clock of this cloudless October morning Colonel MontgomeryByrne, "of the old Army, sir, " was reviling the fates that had set himthe task of unraveling such a skein as he found at Sandy. At six hewas blessing the stars that sent him. Awakened, much before his usualhour, by half-heard murmur of scurry and excitement, so quicklysuppressed he believed it all a dream, he was thinking, half drowsily, all painfully, of the duty devolving on him for the day, and wishinghimself well out of it, when the dream became real, the impressionvivid. His watch told him reveille should now be sounding. His earstold him the sounds he heard were not those of reveille, yet somethinghad roused the occupants of Officers' Row, and then, all on a sudden, instead of the sweet strains of "The Dawn of the Day" or "Bonnie Lasso' Gawrie" there burst upon the morning air, harsh and blustering, thealarum of the Civil War days, the hoarse uproar of the drum thunderingthe long roll, while above all rang the loud clamor of the cavalrytrumpet sounding "To Horse. "

 "Fitz James was brave, but to his heart The life blood leaped with sudden start. "

Byrne sprang from his bed. He was a soldier, battle-tried, but thismeant something utterly new to him in war, for, mingling with thegathering din, he heard the shriek of terror-stricken women. Daly'sbed was empty. The agent was gone. Elise aloft was jabbering _patois_at her dazed and startled mistress. Suey, the Chinaman, cameclattering in, all flapping legs and arms and pigtail, his face livid, his eyes staring. "Patcheese! Patcheese!" he squealed, and dove underthe nearest bed. Then Byrne, shinning into boots and breeches andshunning his coat, grabbed his revolver and rushed for the door. 

Across the parade, out of their barracks the "doughboys" camestreaming, no man of them dressed for inspection, but rather, likesailors, stripped for a fight; and, never waiting to form ranks, butfollowing the lead of veteran sergeants and the signals or orders ofofficers somewhere along the line, went sprinting straight for theeastward _mesa_. From the cavalry barracks, the northward sets, thetroopers, too, were flowing, but these were turned stableward, back ofthe post, and Byrne, with his nightshirt flying wide open, wider thanhis eyes, bolted round through the space between the quarters of Plumeand Wren, catching sight of the arrested captain standing grim andgaunt on his back piazza, and ran with the foremost sergeants to theedge of the plateau, where, in his cool white garb, stood Plume, shouting orders to those beneath. 

There, down in the Sandy bottom, was explanation of it all. Twosoldiers were bending over a prostrate form in civilian dress. Twoswarthy Apaches, one on his face, the other, ten rods away, writhingon his side, lay weltering in blood. Out along the sandy barren andamong the clumps of mezquite and greasewood, perhaps as many as tensoldiers, members of the guard, were scattering in rude skirmishorder; now halting and dropping on one knee to fire, now rushingforward; while into the willows, that swept in wide concave around theflat, a number of forms in dirty white, or nothing at all butstreaming breechclout, were just disappearing. 

Northward, too, beyond the post of No. 4, other little squads andparties could be faintly seen scurrying away for the shelter of thewillows, and as Byrne reached the major's side, with theto-be-expected query "Whatinhell'sthematter?" the last of the fleeingApaches popped out of sight, and Plume turned toward him in mingledwrath and disgust:

"That--ass of an agent!" was all he could say, as he pointed to theprostrate figure in pepper and salt. 

Byrne half slid, half stumbled down the bank and bent over the woundedman. Dead he was not, for, with both hands clasped to his breast, Dalywas cradling from side to side and saying things of Apaches totallyunbecoming an Indian agent and a man of God. "But who did it? andhow?--and why?" demanded Byrne of the ministering soldiers. 

[Illustration: "NOW HALTING, DROPPING ON ONE KNEE TO FIRE"]

"Tried to 'rest two Patchie girls, sir, " answered the first, straightening up and saluting, "and her feller wouldn't stand it, Ireckon. Knifed the agent and Craney, too. Yonder's the feller. "

Yonder lay, face downward, as described, a sinewy young brave of theApache Mohave band, his newer, cleaner shirt and his gayly ornamentedsash and headgear telling of superior rank and station among his kind. With barely a glance at Craney, squatted beside a bush, and with teethand hands knotting a kerchief about a bleeding arm, Byrne bent overthe Apache and turned the face to the light. 

"Good God!" he cried, at the instant, "it's Quonathay--Raven Shield!Why, _you_ know him, corporal!"--this to Casey, of Wren's troop, running to his side. "Son of old Chief Quonahelka! I wouldn't have hadthis happen for all the girls on the reservation. Who were they? Whydid he try to arrest them? Here! I'll have to ask him--stabbed ornot!" And, anxious and angering, the colonel hastened over toward theagent, now being slowly aided to his feet. Plume, too, had comesidelong down the sandy bank with Cutler, of the infantry, askingwhere he should put in his men. "Oh, just deploy across the flats tostand off any possible attack, " said Plume. "Don't cross the Sandy, and, damn it all! get a bugler out and sound recall!" For now thesound of distant shots came echoing back from the eastward cliffs. Thepursuit had spread beyond the stream. "I don't want any more of thosepoor devils hurt. There's mischief enough already, " he concluded. 

"I should say so, " echoed the colonel. "What was the matter, Mr. Daly? Whom did you seek to arrest?--and why?"

"Almost any of 'em, " groaned Daly. "There were a dozen there I'drefused passes to come again this week. They were here in defiance ofmy orders, and I thought to take that girl Natzie, --she that led Lolaoff, --back to her father at the agency. It would have been a goodlesson. Of course she fought and scratched. Next thing I knew a dozenof 'em were atop of us--some water, for God's sake!--and lift me outof this!"

Then with grave and watch-worn face, Graham came hurrying to the spot, all the way over from Mullins's bedside at the hospital and breathinghard. Dour indeed was the look he gave the groaning agent, now gulpingat a gourd held to his pale lips by one of the men. The policy ofDaly's predecessor had been to feather his own nest and let the Indianshift for himself, and this had led to his final overthrow. Daly, however, had come direct from the care of a tribe of the Pueblopersuasion, peace-loving and tillers of the soil, meek as the Pimasand Maricopas, natives who fawned when he frowned and cringed at thecrack of his whip. These he had successfully, and not dishonestly, ruled, but that very experience had unfitted him for duty over themountain Apache, who cringed no more than did the lordly Sioux orCheyenne, and truckled to no man less than a tribal chief. Blakely, the soldier, cool, fearless, and resolute, but scrupulously just, theybelieved in and feared; but this new blusterer only made them laugh, until he scandalized them by wholesale arrest and punishment. Thentheir childlike merriment changed swiftly to furious and scowlinghate, --to open defiance, and finally, when he dared lay hands on achosen daughter of the race, to mutiny and the knife. Graham, servinghis third year in the valley, had seen the crisis coming and sought towarn the man. But what should an army doctor know of an Apache Indian?said Daly, and, fatuous in his own conceit, the crisis found himunprepared. 

"Go you for a stretcher, " said the surgeon, after a quick look intothe livid face. "Lay him down gently there, " and kneeling, busiedhimself with opening a way to the wound. Out over the flats swung thelong skirmish line, picturesque in the variety of its undress, Cutlerstriding vociferous in its wake, while a bugler ran himself out ofbreath, far to the eastward front, to puff feeble and abortive breathinto unresponsive copper. And still the same flutter of distant, scattering shots came drifting back from the brakes and cañons in therocky wilds beyond the stream. The guard still pursued and the Indiansstill led, but they who knew anything well knew it could not be longbefore the latter turned on the scattering chase, and Byrne strodeabout, fuming with anxiety. "Thank God!" he cried, as a prodigiousclatter of hoofs, on hollow and resounding wood, told of cavalrycoming across the _acequia_, and Sanders galloped round the sandypoint in search of the foe--or orders. "Thank God! Here, Sanders--pardon me, major, there isn't an instant to lose--Rush yourmen right on to the front there! Spread well out, but don't fire ashot unless attacked in force! Get those--chasing idiots and bringthem in! By God, sir, we'll have an Indian war on our hands as it is!"And Sanders nodded and dug spurs to his troop horse, and sang out:"Left front into line--gallop!" and the rest was lost in a cloud ofdust and the blare of cavalry trumpet. 

Then the colonel turned to Plume, standing now silent and soretroubled. "It was the quickest way, " he said apologetically. "Ordinarily I should have given the order through you, of course. Butthose beggars are armed to a man. They left their guns in the crevicesof yonder rocks, probably, when they came for the morning music. Wemust have no fight over this unless they force it. I wish to heaven wehadn't killed--these two, " and ruefully he looked at the starkforms--the dead lover of Natzie, the gasping tribesman just beyond, dying, knife in hand. "The general has been trying to curb Daly forthe last ten days, " continued he, "and warned him he'd bring ontrouble. The interpreter split with him on Monday last, and there'sbeen mischief brewing ever since. If only we could have kept Blakelythere--all this row would have been averted!"

If only, indeed! was Plume thinking, as eagerly, anxiously he scannedthe eastward shore, rising jagged, rocky, and forbidding from thewillows of the stream bed. If only, indeed! Not only all this row ofwhich Byrne had seen so much, but all this other row, this row withina row, this intricacy of mishaps and misery that involved the socialuniverse of Camp Sandy, of which as yet the colonel, presumably, knewso very little; of which, as post commander, Plume had yet to tellhim! An orderly came running with a field glass and a scrap of paper. Plume glanced at the latter, a pencil scrawl of his wife's inseparablecompanion, and, for aught he knew, confidante. "Madame, " he could makeout, and "_affreusement_" something, but it was enough. The orderlysupplemented: "Leece, sir, says the lady is very bad--"

"Go to her, Plume, " with startling promptitude cried the colonel. "I'll look to everything here. It's all coming out right, " for with atantara--tantara-ra-ra Sanders's troop, spreading far and wide, werescrambling up the shaly slopes a thousand yards away. "Go to your wifeand tell her the danger's over, " and, with hardly another glance atthe moaning agent, now being limply hoisted on a hospital stretcher, thankfully the major went. "The lady's very bad, is she?" growledByrne, in fierce aside to Graham. "That French hag sometimes speakstruth, in spite of herself. How d'you find him?" This with a toss ofthe head toward the vanishing stretcher. 

"Bad likewise. These Apache knives dig deep. There's Mullins now--"

"Think _that_ was Apache?" glared Byrne, with sudden light in hiseyes, for Wren had told his troubles--all. 

"Apache _knife_--yes. "

"What the devil do you mean, Graham?" and the veteran soldier, whoknew and liked the surgeon, whirled again on him with eyes that lookednot like at all. 

The doctor turned, his somber gaze following the now distant figure ofthe post commander, struggling painfully up the yielding sand of thesteep slope to the plateau. The stretcher bearers and attendants werestriding away to hospital with the now unconscious burden. The fewmen, lingering close at hand, were grouped about the dead Apaches. Thegathering watchers along the bank were beyond earshot. Staff officerand surgeon were practically alone and the latter answered:

"I mean, sir, that if that Apache knife had been driven in by anApache warrior, Mullins would have been dead long hours ago--which heisn't. "

Byrne turned a shade grayer. 

"Could _she_ have done that?" he asked, with one sideward jerk of hishead toward the major's quarters. 

"I'm not saying, " quoth the Scot. "I'm asking was there anyone else?"

CHAPTER IX

A CARPET KNIGHT, INDEED

The flag at Camp Sandy drooped from the peak. Except by order it neverhung halfway. The flag at the agency fluttered no higher than thecross-trees, telling that Death had loved some shining mark and hadnot sued in vain. Under this symbol of mourning, far up the valley, the interpreter was telling to a circle of dark, sullen, andunresponsive faces a fact that every Apache knew before. Under thefull-masted flag at the post, a civilian servant of the nation laygarbed for burial. Poor Daly had passed away with hardly a chance totell his tale, with only a loving, weeping woman or two to mourn him. Over the camp the shadow of death tempered the dazzling sunshine, forall Sandy felt the strain and spoke only with sorrow. He meant well, did Daly, that was accorded him now. He only lacked "savvy" said theywho had dwelt long in the land of Apache. 

Over at the hospital two poor women wept, and twice their numberstrove to soothe. Janet Wren and Mrs. Graham were there, as ever, whensorrow and trouble came. Mrs. Sanders and Mrs. Cutler, too, werehovering about the mourners, doing what they could, and the hospitalmatron, busy day and night of late, had never left her patient untilhe needed her no more, and then had turned to minister to those heleft behind--the widow and the fatherless. Over on the shaded verandasother women met and murmured in the soft, sympathetic drawlappropriate to funereal occasion, and men nodded silently to eachother. Death was something these latter saw so frequently it broughtbut little of terror. Other things were happening of far greatermoment that they could not fathom at all. 

Captain Wren, after four days of close arrest, had been released bythe order of Major Plume himself, who, pending action on hisapplication for leave of absence, had gone on sick report and secludedhimself within his quarters. It was rumored that Mrs. Plume wasseriously ill, so ill, indeed, she had to be denied to every one ofthe sympathizing women who called, even to Janet, sister of theirsoldier next-door neighbor, but recently a military prisoner, yet now, by law and custom, commander of the post. 

Several things had conspired to bring about this condition of affairs. Byrne, to begin with, had been closely questioning Shannon, and hadreached certain conclusions with regard to the stabbing of Mullinsthat were laid before Plume, already stunned by the knowledge that, sleeping as his friendly advisers declared, or waking, as his innerconsciousness would have it, Clarice, his young and still beautifulwife, had left her pillow and gone by night toward the northern limitof the line of quarters. If Wren were tried, or even accused, thatfact would be the first urged in his defense. Plume's sternaccusation of Elise had evoked from her nothing but a voluble storm ofprotest. Madame was ill, sleepless, nervous--had gone forth to walkaway her nervousness. She, Elise, had gone in search and brought herhome. Downs, the wretch, when as stoutly questioned, declared he hadbeen blind drunk; saw nobody, knew nothing, and must have taken thelieutenant's whisky. Plume shrank from asking Norah questions. Hecould not bring himself to talking of his wife to the girl of thelaundresses' quarters, but he knew now that he must drop that much ofthe case against Wren. 

Then came the final blow. Byrne had gone to the agency, making everyeffort through runners, with promises of immunity, to coax back therenegades to the reservation, and so avert another Apache war. Plume, in sore perplexity, was praying for the complete restoration ofMullins--the only thing that could avert investigation--when, as heentered his office the morning of this eventful day, Doty's young facewas eloquent with news. 

One of the first things done by Lieutenant Blakely when permitted byDr. Graham to sit and speak, was to dictate a letter to the postadjutant, the original of which, together with the archives of CampSandy, was long since buried among the hidden treasures of the WarDepartment. The following is a copy of the paper placed by Mr. Doty inthe major's hands even before he could reach his desk:

 CAMP SANDY, A. T. , October --, 187--

 LIEUTENANT J. J. DOTY, 8th U. S. Infantry, Post Adjutant. 

 _Sir_: I have the honor to submit for the consideration of the post commander, the following:

 Shortly after retreat on the --th inst. I was suddenly accosted in my quarters by Captain Robert Wren, ----th Cavalry, and accused of an act of treachery to him;--an accusation which called forth instant and indignant denial. He had, as I now have cause to know, most excellent reason for believing his charge to be true, and the single blow he dealt me was the result of intense and natural wrath. That the consequences were so serious he could not have foreseen. 

 As the man most injured in the affair, I earnestly ask that no charges be preferred. Were we in civil life I should refuse to prosecute, and, if the case be brought before a court-martial it will probably fail--for lack of evidence. 

 Very Respectfully, Your Obedient Servant, NEIL D. BLAKELY, 1st Lieut. , ----th Cavalry. 

Now, Doty had been known to hold his tongue when a harmful story mightbe spread, but he could no more suppress his rejoicing over this thanhe could the impulse to put it in slang. "Say, aint this just acorker?" said this ingenuous youth, as he spread it on his desk forGraham's grimly gleaming eyes. Plume had read it in dull, apathetic, unseeing fashion. It was the morning after the Apache _emeute_. Plumehad stared hard at his adjutant a moment, then, whipping up the sunhat that he had dropped on his desk, and merely saying, "I'llreturn--shortly, " had sped to his darkened quarters and not for anhour had he reappeared. Then the first thing he asked for was thatletter of Mr. Blakely's, which, this time, he read with lipscompressed and twitching a bit at the corners. Then he called for atelegraph blank and sent a wire to intercept Byrne at the agency. "Ishall turn over command to Wren at noon. I'm too ill for furtherduty, " was all he said. Byrne read the rest between the lines. 

But Graham went straightway to the quarters of Captain Wren, a roughpencil copy of that most unusual paper in his hand. "R-robert Wren, "said he, as he entered, unknocking and unannounced, "will ye listen tothis? Nay, Angela, lass, don't go. " When strongly moved, as we haveseen, our doctor dropped to the borderland of dialect. 

In the dim light from the shaded windows he had not at first seen thegirl. She was seated on a footstool, her hands on her father's knee, her fond face gazing up into his, and that strong, bony hand of hisresting on her head and toying with the ribbon, the "snood, " as heloved to call it, with which she bound her abundant tresses. At soundof the doctor's voice, Janet, ever apprehensive of ill, had come forthfrom the dining room, silver brush and towel in hand, and stood at thedoorway, gazing austerely. She could not yet forgive her brother'sfriend his condemnation of her methods as concerned her brother'schild. Angela, rising to her full height, stood with one hand on theback of her father's chair, the other began softly stroking thegrizzled crop from his furrowed forehead. 

No one spoke a word as Graham began and slowly, to the uttermostline, read his draft of Blakely's missive. No one spoke for a momentafter he had finished. Angela, with parted lips and dilated eyes, hadstood at first drinking in each syllable, then, with heaving bosom, she slowly turned, her left hand falling by her side. Wren sat insilence, his deep-set eyes glowering on the grim reader, a dazed lookon his rugged face. Then he reached up and drew the slim, tremuloushand from his forehead and snuggled it against his stubbly cheek, andstill he could not speak. Janet slowly backed away into the darknessof the dining room. The situation had softening tendencies and Janet'snature revolted at sentiment. It was Graham's voice that again brokethe silence. 

"For a vain carpet knight, 'whose best boast was to wear a braid ofhis fair lady's hair, ' it strikes me our butterfly chaser has somepoints of a gentleman, " said he, slowly folding his paper. "I mightsay more, " he continued presently, retiring toward the hall. Then, pausing at the doorway, "but I won't, " he concluded, and abruptlyvanished. 

An hour later, when Janet in person went to answer a knock at thedoor, she glanced in at the parlor as she passed, and that peeprevealed Angela again seated on her footstool, with her bonny headpillowed on her father's knee, his hand again toying with the glossytresses, and both father and child looked up, expectant. Yes, therestood the young adjutant, officially equipped with belt and sword andspotless gloves. "Can I see the captain?" he asked, lifting his natty_kepi_, and the captain arose and strode to the door. 

"Major Plume presents his compliments--and this letter, sir, "stammered the youth, blushing, too, at sight of Angela, beaming on himfrom the parlor door. "And--you're in command, sir. The major has goneon sick report. "

That evening a solemn _cortège_ filed away down the winding road tothe northward flats and took the route to the little cemetery, almostall the garrison following to the grave all that was mortal of thehapless agent. Byrne, returned from the agency, was there to representthe general commanding the department. Wren stalked solemnly besidehim as commander of the post. Even the women followed, trippingdaintily through the sand. Graham watched them from the porch of thepost hospital. He could not long leave Mullins, tossing in fever anddelirium. He had but recently left Lieutenant Blakely, sitting up andplacidly busying himself in patching butterfly wings, and Blakely hadeven come to the front door to look at the distant gathering ofdecorous mourners. But the bandaged head was withdrawn as two tall, feminine forms came gravely up the row, one so prim and almostantique, the other so lithe and lissome. He retreated to the frontroom, and with the one available eye at the veiled window, followedher, the latter, until the white flowing skirt was swept from thefield of his vision. He had stood but a few hours previous on the spotwhere he had received that furious blow five nights before, and thistime, with cordial grasp, had taken the huge hand that dealt itbetween his white and slender palms. "Forgive us our trespasses as weforgive those, " Wren had murmured, as he read the deeply regretfulwords of his late accuser and commander, for had not he in his turn, and without delay, also to eat humble pie? There was something almostpathetic in the attitude of the big soldier as he came to the darkenedroom and stood before his junior and subordinate, but the latter hadstilled the broken, clumsy, faltering words with which this strong, masterful man was striving to make amend for bitter wrong. "I won'tlisten to more, Captain Wren, " he said. "You had reasons I neverdreamed of--then. Our eyes have been opened" (one of his was stillclosed). "You have said more than enough. Let us start afreshnow--with better understanding. "

"It--it is generous in you, Blakely. I misjudgedeverything--everybody, and now, --well, you know there are stillHotspurs in the service. I'm thinking some man may be ass enough tosay you got a blow without resenting--"

Blakely smiled, a contorted and disunited smile, perhaps, and one muchtrammeled by adhesive plaster. Yet there was placid unconcern in thevisible lines of his pale face. "I think I shall know how to answer, "said he. And so for the day, and without mention of the name uppermostin the thoughts of each, the two had parted--for the first time asfriends. 

But the night was yet to come. 

CHAPTER X. 

"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT" AGAIN

So swift had been the succession of events since the first day of theweek, few of the social set at Sandy could quite realize, much lessfathom, all that had happened, and as they gathered on the verandas, in the cool of the evening after Daly's funeral, the trend of talk wasall one way. A man who might have thrown light on certain matters atissue had been spirited away, and there were women quite ready to vowit was done simply to get him beyond range of their questioning. Sergeant Shannon had been sent to the agency on some missionprescribed by Colonel Byrne. It was almost the last order issued byMajor Plume before turning over the command. 

Byrne himself still lingered at the post, "watching the situation, " asit was understood, and in constant telegraphic correspondence with thegeneral at Prescott and the commander of the little guard over theagency buildings at the reservation--Lieutenant Bridger, of theInfantry. With a sergeant and twenty men that young officer had beendispatched to that point immediately after the alarming andunlooked-for catastrophe of the reveille outbreak. Catastrophe waswhat Byrne called it, and he meant what he said, not so much becauseit had cost the life of Daly, the agent, whose mistaken zeal hadprecipitated the whole misunderstanding, but rather because of thedeath of two such prominent young warriors as "Shield" and his friend, who had fallen after dealing the fatal blow to him who had laidviolent hands, so they regarded it, on two young girls, one achieftain's daughter and both objects of reverent and savagelysentimental interest. "If war doesn't come at once, " said Byrne, "itwill be because the Apache has a new sense or a deep-laid scheme. Lookout for him. "

No news as yet had come from the runners sent forth in search of thescattered fugitives, who would soon be flocking together again in thefastnesses of the Mogollon to the east or the Red Rock countrynorthward--the latter probably, as being nearer their friends at thereservation and farther from the few renegade Tontos lurking in themountains toward Fort Apache. Byrne's promise to the wanderers, sentby these runners, was to the effect that they would be safe from anyprosecution if they would return at once to the agency and reportthemselves to the interpreter and the lieutenant commanding the guard. He would not, he said, be answerable for what might happen if theypersisted in remaining at large. But when it was found that, so farfrom any coming in, there were many going out, and that Natzie'sfather and brother had already gone, Byrne's stout heart sank. Themessage came by wire from the agency not long after the return of thefuneral party, and while the evening was yet young. He sent at oncefor Wren, and, seated on the major's front piazza, with an orderlyhovering just out of earshot, and with many an eye anxiously watchingthem along the row, the two veterans were holding earnest conference. Major Plume was at the bedside of his wife, so said Graham when hecame down about eight. Mrs. Plume, he continued, was at least noworse, but very nervous. Then he took himself back to the hospital. 

Another topic of talk along the line was Blakely's watch and itsstrange recovery, and many were the efforts to learn what Blakelyhimself had to say about it. The officers, nearly all of them, ofcourse, had been at intervals to see Blakely and inquire if there werenot something that they could do, this being the conventional andproper thing, and they who talked with him, with hardly an exception, led up to the matter of the watch and wished to know how he accountedfor its being there on the post of No. 5. It was observed that, uponthis topic and the stabbing of Private Mullins, Mr. Blakely was oddlyreticent. He had nothing whatever to suggest as explanation of eithermatter. The watch was taken from the inner pocket of his thin whitecoat as he lay asleep at the pool, of this he felt confident, but bywhom he would not pretend to say. Everybody knew by this time thatAngela Wren had seen him sleeping, and had, in a spirit of playfulmischief, fetched away his butterfly net, but who would accuse Angelaof taking his watch and money? Of course such things had been, saidone or two wise heads, but--not with girls like Angela. 

But who could say what, all this while, Angela herself was thinking?Once upon a time it had been the way of our young folk well over theNorth and West to claim forfeit in the game of "Catching the weaselasleep. " There had been communities, indeed, and before co-educationbecame a fad at certain of our great universities, wherein the maidcaught napping could hold it no sin against watchful swain, or evenagainst her, that he then and there imprinted on her lips a kiss. Onthe other hand, the swain found sleeping might not always expect akiss, but must pay the penalty, a pair of dainty gloves. Many aforfeit, both lip and glove, had there been claimed and allowed inarmy days whereof we write, and Angela, stealing upon Blakely as hedozed beneath the willows, and liking him well and deploring herfather's pronounced aversion to him--perhaps even resenting it anundutiful bit--had found it impossible to resist the temptation tosoftly disengage that butterfly net from the loosely clasping fingers, and swiftly, stealthily, delightedly to scamper away with it againsthis waking. It was of this very exploit, never dreaming of the fatefulconsequences, she and Kate Sanders were so blissfully bubbling over, fairly shaking with maiden merriment when the despoiled victim, homeward bound, caught sight of them upon the _mesa_. Ten minutesmore, and in full force she had been made to feel the blow of herfather's fierce displeasure. Twenty minutes more, and, under the blowof her father's furious wrath, Blakely had been felled like a log. 

When with elongated face and exaggerated gloom of manner Aunt Janetcame to make her realize the awful consequences of her crime, Angela'sfirst impulse had been to cry out against her father's unreasoningrage. When she learned that he was in close arrest, --to be tried, doubtless, for his mad assault, --in utter revulsion of feeling, inlove and tenderness, in grief and contrition inexpressible, she hadthrown herself at his feet and, clasping his knees, had sobbed herheart out in imploring his forgiveness for what she called her wicked, heedless, heartless conduct. No one saw that blessed meeting, thatscene of mutual forgiveness, of sweet reconciliation; too sweet andserene, indeed, for Janet's stern and Calvinistic mold. 

Are we ever quite content, I wonder, that others' bairnies should beso speedily, so entirely, forgiven? All because of this had allJanet's manifestations of sympathy for Robert to be tempered with afine reserve. As for Angela, it would never do to let the child sosoon forget that this should be an awful lesson. Aunt Janet's manner, therefore, when, butterfly net in hand, she required of her niece fullexplanation of the presence in the room of this ravished trophy, wassomething fraught with far too much of future punishment, of wratheternal. Even in her chastened mood Angela's spirit stood _en garde_. "I have told father everything, auntie, " she declared. "I leave it allto him, " and bore in silence the comments, without the utterance ofwhich the elder vestal felt she could not conscientiously quit thefield. "Bold, " "immodest, " "unmaidenly, " "wanton, " were a choice fewof Aunt Janet's expletives, and these were unresented. But when sheconcluded with "I shall send this--thing to him at once, with mypersonal apologies for the act of an irresponsible child, " up sprangAngela with rebellion flashing from her eyes. She had sufferedpunishment as a woman. She would not now be treated as a child. ToJanet's undisguised amaze and disapprobation, Wren decided that Angelaherself should send both apology and net. It was the first missive ofthe kind she had ever written, but, even so, she would not submit itfor either advice or criticism--even though its composition cost hermany hours and tears and sheets of paper. No one but the recipient hadso much as a peep at it, but when Blakely read it a grave smilelighted his pallid and still bandaged face. He stowed the little notein his desk, and presently took it out and read it again, and stillagain, and then it went slowly into the inner pocket of his white sackcoat and was held there, while he, the wearer, slowly paced up anddown the veranda late in the starlit night. This was the evening ofDaly's funeral, the evening of the day on which he and his captain hadshaken hands and were to start afresh with better understanding. 

Young Duane was officer of the day and, after the tattoo inspection ofhis little guard, had gone for a few minutes to the hospital whereMullins lay muttering and tossing in his feverish sleep; then, meetingWren and Graham on the way, had tramped over to call on Blakely, thinking, perhaps, to chat a while and learn something. Soon after"taps" was sounded, however, the youngster joined the little groupgossiping in guarded tones on the porch at Captain Sanders', far downthe row, and, in response to question, said that "Bugs"--that beingBlakely's briefest _nom de guerre_--must be convalescing rapidly, he"had no use for his friends, " and, as the lad seemed somewhat ruffledand resentful, what more natural than that he should be called uponfor explanation? Sanders and his wife were present, and Mrs. Bridger, very much alive with inquiry and not a little malicious interest. Kate, too, was of the party, and Doty, the adjutant, and MesdamesCutler and Westervelt--it was so gloomy and silent, said these latter, at their end of the row. Much of the talk had been about Mrs. Plume'sillness and her "sleep-walking act, " as it had been referred to, andmany had thought, but few had spoken, of her possible presence on thepost of No. 5 about the time that No. 5 was stabbed. They knew _she_couldn't have done it, of course, but then how strange that she shouldhave been there at all! The story had gained balloon-like expanse bythis time, and speculation was more than rife. But here was Duane witha new grievance which, when put into Duane's English, reduced itselfto this: "Why, it was like as if Bugs wanted to get rid of me andexpected somebody else, " and this they well remembered later. Nobodyelse was observed going to Blakely's front door, at least, but ateleven o'clock he himself could still be dimly heard and seen pacingsteadily up and down his piazza, apparently alone and deep in thought. His lights, too, were turned down, a new man from the troop havingasked for and assumed the duties formerly devolving on the wretchDowns, now doing time within the garrison prison. Before eleven, however, this new martial domestic had gone upstairs to bed andBlakely was all alone, which was as he wished it, for he had things toplan and other things to think of that lifted him above thepossibility of loneliness. 

Down the line of officers' quarters only in two or three houses couldlights be seen. Darkness reigned at Plume's, where Byrne was stillrooming. Darkness reigned at Wren's and Graham's, despite the factthat the lords of these manors were still abroad, both at the bedsideof Trooper Mullins. A dozen people were gathered by this time atSanders'. All the other verandas, except Blakely's with its solitarywatcher, seemed deserted. To these idlers of the soft and starlitnight, sitting bareheaded about the gallery and chatting in thefriendly way of the frontier, there came presently a young soldierfrom the direction of the adjutant's office at the south end. "Thenight operator, " he explained. "Two dispatches have just come forColonel Byrne, and I thought maybe--"

"No, Cassidy, " said Doty. "The colonel is at his quarters. Dispatch, is it? Perhaps I'd better go with you, " and, rising, the young officerled the way, entering on tiptoe the hall of the middle house where, far back on a table, a lamp was burning low. Tapping at an inner door, he was bidden to enter. Byrne was in bed, a single sheet over hisburly form, but he lay wide awake. He took the first dispatch and toreit open eagerly. It was from Bridger at the agency:

 Runners just in say Natzie and Lola had turned back from trail to Montezuma Well, refusing to go further from their dead. Can probably be found if party go at dawn or sooner. Alchisay with them. More Indians surely going out from here. 

Byrne's brow contracted and his lips compressed, but he gave no othersign. "Is Captain Wren still up?" he briefly asked, as he reached forthe other dispatch. 

"Over at the hospital, sir, " said Doty, and watched this famouscampaigner's face as he ripped open the second brown envelope. Thistime he was half out of bed before he could have half finished eventhat brief message. It was from the general:

 News of trouble must have reached Indians at San Carlos. Much excitement there and at Apache. Shall start for Camp McDowell to-morrow as soon as I have seen Plume. He should come early. 

The colonel was in his slippers and inexpressibles in less than notime, but Plume aloft had heard the muffled sounds from the lowerfloor, and was down in a moment. Without a word Byrne handed him thesecond message and waited until he had read, then asked: "Can youstart at dawn?"

"I can start now, " was the instant reply. "Our best team can make itin ten hours. Order out the Concord, Mr. Doty. " And Doty vanished. 

"But Mrs. Plume--" began the colonel tentatively. 

"Mrs. Plume simply needs quiet and to be let alone, " was the joylessanswer. "I think perhaps--I am rather in the way. "

"Well, I know the general will appreciate your promptness. I--did notknow you had asked to see him, " and Byrne looked up from under hisshaggy brows. 

"I hadn't exactly, but my letter intimated as much. There is so verymuch I--I cannot write about--that of course he's bound to hear, --Idon't mean you, Colonel Byrne, --and he ought to know the--facts. NowI'll get ready at once and--see you before starting. "

"Better take an escort, Plume. "

"One man on driver's seat. That's all, sir. I'll come in presently, incase you have anything to send, " said Plume, and hurried againupstairs. 

It was barely midnight when Plume's big black wagon, the Concord, allspring and hickory, as said the post quartermaster, went whirling awaybehind its strapping team of four huge Missouri mules. It was 12. 30 bythe guard-house clock and the call of the sentries when Wren came hometo find Angela, her long, luxuriant hair tumbling down over her soft, white wrapper, waiting for him at the front door. From her window shehad seen him coming; had noted the earlier departure of the wagon; hadheard the voice of Major Plume bidding good-by, and wondered what itmeant--this midnight start of the senior officer of the post. She hadbeen sitting there silent, studying the glittering stars, andwondering would there be an answer to her note? Would he be able towrite just yet? Was there reason, really, why he _should_ write, afterall that had passed? Somehow she felt that write he certainly would, and soon, and the thought kept her from sleeping. It was because shewas anxious about Mullins, so she told herself and told her father, that she had gone fluttering down to meet him at the door. But nosooner had he answered, "Still delirious and yet holding his own, "than she asked where and why Major Plume had gone. 

"The general wired for him, " answered Wren. "And what is my tallgirlie doing, spiering from windows this time of night? Go to bed, child. " She may be losing beauty sleep, but not her beauty, thought hefondly, as she as fondly kissed him and turned to obey. Then came aheavy footfall on the gallery without, and a dark form, erect andsoldierly, stood between them and the dim lights of the guard-house. It was a corporal of the guard. 

"No. 4, sir, reports he heard shots--two--way up the valley. "

"Good God!" Wren began, then throttled the expletive half spoken. Could they have dared waylay the major--and so close to the post? Amoment more and he was hurrying over to his troop quarters; fiveminutes, and a sergeant and ten men were running with him to thestables; ten, and a dozen horses, swiftly saddled, were being led intothe open starlight; fifteen, and they were away at a lunging broncolope, a twisting column of twos along the sandy road, leaving thegarrison to wake and wonder. Three, four, five miles they sped, pastBoulder Point, past Rattlesnake Hill, and still no sign of anythingamiss, no symptom of night-raiding Apache, for indeed the Apachedreads the dark. Thrice the sergeant had sprung from his horse, lighted a match, and studied the trail. On and on had gone the mulesand wagon without apparent break or interruption, until, far beyondthe bluff that hid the road from sight of all at Sandy, they had begunthe long, tortuous climb of the divide to Cherry Creek. No. 4 mighthave heard shots, but, if intended for the wagon, they had beenharmless. It was long after one when Wren gave the word to put back tothe post, and as they remounted and took the homeward trail, they rodefor the first five minutes almost directly east, and, as they ascendeda little slant of hillside, the sergeant in advance reined suddenlyin. "Look there!" said he. 

Far over among the rocky heights beyond the valley, hidden from thesouth from Sandy by precipitous cliffs that served almost as areflector toward the reservation, a bright blaze had shot suddenlyheavenward--a signal fire of the Apache. Some of them, then, were inthe heart of that most intractable region, not ten miles northeast ofthe post, and signaling to their fellows; but the major must haveslipped safely through. 

Sending his horse to stable with the detachment, Wren had found No. 4well over toward the east end of his post, almost to the angle withthat of No. 5. "Watch well for signal fires or prowlers to-night, " heordered. "Have you seen any?"

"No signal fires, sir, " answered the sentry. "Welch, who was on beforeme, thought he heard shots--"

"I know, " answered Wren impatiently. "There was nothing in it. But wedid see a signal fire over to the northeast, so they are around us, and some may be creeping close in to see what we're doing, though Idoubt it. You've seen nothing?"

"Well, no, sir; we can't see much of anything, it's so dark. Butthere's a good many of the post people up and moving about, excited, Isuppose. There were lights there at the lieutenant's, Mr. Blakely's, awhile ago, and--voices. " No. 4 pointed to the dark gable end barelyforty yards away. 

"That's simple enough, " said Wren. "People would naturally come up tothis end to see what had become of us, why we had gone, etc. Theyheard of it, I dare say, and some were probably startled. "

"Yes, sir, it sounded like--somebody cryin'. "

Wren was turning away. "What?" he suddenly asked. 

No. 4 repeated his statement. Wren pondered a moment, started tospeak, to question further, but checked himself and trudgedthoughtfully away through the yielding sand. The nearest path led pastthe first quarters, Blakely's, on the eastward side, and as thecaptain neared the house he stopped short. Somewhere in the shadows ofthe back porch low, murmuring voices were faintly audible. One, inexcited tone, was not that of a man, and as Wren stood, uncertain andsurprised, the rear door was quickly opened and against the faintlight from within two dark forms were projected. One, the taller, herecognized beyond doubt as that of Neil Blakely; the other he did notrecognize at all. But he had heard the tone of the voice. He knew theform to be, beyond doubt, that of a young and slender woman. Thentogether the shadows disappeared within and the door was closed behindthem. 

CHAPTER XI

A STOP--BY WIRE

Three days later the infantry guard of the garrison were in solecharge. Wren and Sanders, with nearly fifty troopers apiece, had takenthe field in compliance with telegraphic orders from Prescott. Thegeneral had established field headquarters temporarily at CampMcDowell, down the Verde Valley, and under his somewhat distantsupervision four or five little columns of horse, in single file, wereboring into the fastnesses of the Mogollon and the Tonto Basin. Therunners had been unsuccessful. The renegades would not return. Half adozen little nomad bands, forever out from the reservation, hadeagerly welcomed these malcontents and the news they bore that two oftheir young braves had been murdered while striving to defend Natzieand Lola. It furnished all that was needed as excuse for instantdescent upon the settlers in the deep valleys north of the Rio Salado, and, all unsuspecting, all unprepared, several of these had met theirdoom. Relentless war was already begun, and the general lost no timein starting his horsemen after the hostiles. Meantime the infantrycompanies, at the scattered posts and camps, were left to "hold thefort, " to protect the women, children, and property, and Neil Blakely, a sore-hearted man because forbidden by the surgeon to attempt to go, was chafing, fuming, and retarding his recovery at his lonelyquarters. The men whom he most liked were gone, and the few among thewomen who might have been his friends seemed now to stand afar off. Something, he knew not what, had turned garrison sentiment againsthim. 

For a day or two, so absorbed was he in his chagrin over Graham'sverdict and the general's telegraphic orders in the case, Mr. Blakelynever knew or noticed that anything else was amiss. Then, too, therehad been no opportunity of meeting garrison folk except the fewofficers who dropped in to inquire civilly how he was progressing. Thebandages were off, but the plaster still disfigured one side of hisface and neck. He could not go forth and seek society. There wasreally only one girl at the post whose society he cared to seek. Hehad his books and his bugs, and that, said Mrs. Bridger, was "all hedemanded and more than he deserved. " To think that the very room sorecently sacred to the son and heir should be transformed into whatthat irate little woman called a "beetle shop"! It was one of Mr. Blakely's unpardonable sins in the eyes of the sex that he found somuch to interest him in a pursuit that neither interested nor includedthem. A man with brains and a bank account had no right to live alone, said Mrs. Sanders, she having a daughter of marriageable age, if onlymoderately prepossessing. All this had the women to complain of in himbefore the cataclysm that, for the time at least, had played havocwith his good looks. All this he knew and bore with philosophic andwhimsical stoicism. But all this and more could not account for thephenomenon of averted eyes and constrained, if not freezing, mannerwhen, in the dusk of the late autumn evening, issuing suddenly fromhis quarters, he came face to face with a party of four young womenunder escort of the post adjutant--Mrs. Bridger and Mrs. Trumanforemost of the four and first to receive his courteous, yet halfembarrassed, greeting. They had to stop for half a second, as theylater said, because really he confronted them, all unsuspected. Butthe other two, Kate Sanders and Mina Westervelt, with bowed heads andwithout a word, scurried by him and passed on down the line. Dotyexplained hurriedly that they had been over to the post hospital toinquire for Mullins and were due at the Sanders' now for music, whereupon Blakely begged pardon for even the brief detention, and, raising his cap, went on out to the sentry post of No. 4 to study thedark and distant upheavals in the Red Rock country, where, almostevery night of late, the signal fires of the Apaches were reported. Not until he was again alone did he realize that he had been almostfrigidly greeted by those who spoke at all. It set him to thinking. 

Mrs. Plume was still confined to her room. The major had returned fromPrescott and, despite the fact that the regiment was afield and aclash with the hostiles imminent, was packing up preparatory to amove. Books, papers, and pictures were being stored in chests, big andlittle, that he had had made for such emergencies. It was evidentthat he was expecting orders for change of station or extended leave, and they who went so far as to question the grave-faced soldier, whoseemed to have grown ten years older in the last ten days, had to becontent with the brief, guarded reply that Mrs. Plume had never beenwell since she set foot in Arizona, and even though he returned, shewould not. He was taking her, he said, to San Francisco. Of thisunhappy woman's nocturnal expedition the others seldom spoke now andonly with bated breath. "Sleep-walking, of course!" said everybody, nomatter what everybody might think. But, now that Major Plume knew thatin her sleep his wife had wandered up the row to the very door--theback door--of Mr. Blakely's quarters, was it not strange that he hadtaken no pains to prevent a recurrence of so compromising anexcursion, for strange stories were afloat. Sentry No. 4 had heard andtold of a feminine voice, "somebody cryin' like" in the darkness ofmidnight about Blakely's, and Norah Shaughnessy--returned to herduties at the Trumans', yet worrying over the critical condition ofher trooper lover, and losing thereby much needed sleep--had gainedsome new and startling information. One night she had heard, anothernight she had dimly seen, a visitor received at Blakely's back door, and that visitor a woman, with a shawl about her head. Norah told hermistress, who very properly bade her never refer to it again to asoul, and very promptly referred to it herself to several souls, oneof them Janet Wren. Janet, still virtuously averse to Blakely, laidthe story before her brother the very day he started on the warpath, and Janet was startled to see that she was telling him no newswhatever. "Then, indeed, " said she, "it is high time the major tookhis wife away, " and Wren sternly bade her hold her peace, she knew notwhat she was saying! But, said Camp Sandy, who could it have been butMrs. Plume or, possibly, Elise? Once or twice in its checkered pastCamp Sandy had had its romance, its mystery, indeed its scandals, butthis was something that put in the shade all previous episodes; thisshook Sandy to its very foundation, and this, despite her brother'sprohibition, Janet Wren felt it her duty to detail in full to Angela. 

To do her justice, it should be said that Miss Wren had strivenvaliantly against the impulse, --had indeed mastered it for severalhours, --but the sight of the vivid blush, the eager joy in the sweetyoung face when Blakely's new "striker" handed in a note addressed toMiss Angela Wren, proved far too potent a factor in the undoing ofthat magnanimous resolve. The girl fled with her prize, instanter, toher room, and thither, as she did not reappear, the aunt betookherself within the hour. The note itself was neither long noreffusive--merely a bright, cordial, friendly missive, protestingagainst the idea that any apology had been due. There was but one linewhich could be considered even mildly significant. "The little net, "wrote Blakely, "has now a value that it never had before. " Yet Angelawas snuggling that otherwise unimportant billet to her cheek when thecreaking stairway told her portentously of a solemn coming. Tenminutes more and the note was lying neglected on the bureau, andAngela stood at her window, gazing out over dreary miles of almostdesert landscape, of rock and shale and sand and cactus, with eyesfrom which the light had fled, and a new, strange trouble biting ather girlish heart. Confound No. 4--and Norah Shaughnessy!

It had been arranged that when the Plumes were ready to start, Mrs. Daly and her daughter, the newly widowed and the fatherless, should besent up to Prescott and thence across the desert to Ehrenberg, on theColorado. While no hostile Apaches had been seen west of the VerdeValley, there were traces that told that they were watching the roadas far at least as the Agua Fria, and a sergeant and six men had beenchosen to go as escort to the little convoy. It had been supposed thatPlume would prefer to start in the morning and go as far as Stemmer'sranch, in the Agua Fria Valley, and there rest his invalid wife untilanother day, thus breaking the fifty-mile stage through the mountains. To the surprise of everybody, the Dalys were warned to be in readinessto start at five in the morning, and to go through to Prescott thatday. At five in the morning, therefore, the quartermaster's ambulancewas at the post trader's house, where the recently bereaved ones hadbeen harbored since poor Daly's death, and there, with their generoushost, was the widow's former patient, Blakely, full of sympathy andsolicitude, come to say good-bye. Plume's own Concord appeared almostat the instant in front of his quarters, and presently Mrs. Plume, veiled and obviously far from strong, came forth leaning on herhusband's arm, and closely followed by Elise. Then, despite the earlyhour, and to the dismay of Plume, who had planned to start withoutfarewell demonstration of any kind, lights were blinking in almostevery house along the row, and a flock of women, some tender andsympathetic, some morbidly curious, had gathered to wish the major'swife a pleasant journey and a speedy recovery. They loved her not atall, and liked her none too well, but she was ill and sorrowing, sothat was enough. Elise they could not bear, yet even Elise came in fora kindly word or two. Mrs. Graham was there, big-hearted and brimmingover with helpful suggestion, burdened also with a basket of dainties. Captain and Mrs. Cutler, Captain and Mrs. Westervelt, the Trumansboth, Doty, the young adjutant, Janet Wren, of course, and the ladiesof the cavalry, the major's regiment, without exception, were on handto bid the major and his wife good-bye. Angela Wren was not feelingwell, explained her aunt, and Mr. Neil Blakely was conspicuous by hisabsence. 

It had been observed that, during those few days of hurried packingand preparation, Major Plume had not once gone to Blakely's quarters. True, he had visited only Dr. Graham, and had begged him to explainthat anxiety on account of Mrs. Plume prevented his making the roundof farewell calls; but that he was thoughtful of others to the lastwas shown in this: Plume had asked Captain Cutler, commander of thepost, to order the release of that wretch Downs. "He has beenpunished quite sufficiently, I think, " said Plume, "and as I wasinstrumental in his arrest I ask his liberation. " At tattoo, therefore, the previous evening "the wretch" had been returned toduty, and at five in the morning was found hovering about the major'squarters. When invited by the sergeant of the guard to explain, hereplied, quite civilly for him, that it was to say good-by to Elise. "Me and her, " said he, "has been good friends. "

Presumably he had had his opportunity at the kitchen door before thestart, but still he lingered, feigning professional interest in thecondition of the sleek mules that were to haul the Concord over fiftymiles of rugged road, up hill and down dale before the setting of thesun. Then, while the officers and ladies clustered thick on one sideof the black vehicle, Downs sidled to the other, and the big blackeyes of the Frenchwoman peered down at him a moment as she leanedtoward him, and, with a whispered word, slyly dropped a little foldedpacket into his waiting palm. Then, as though impatient, Plume shouted"All right. Go on!" The Concord whirled away, and something like asigh of relief went up from assembled Sandy, as the first kiss of therising sun lighted on the bald pate of Squaw Peak, huge sentinel ofthe valley, looming from the darkness and shadows and the mists of theshallow stream that slept in many a silent pool along its massive, rocky base. With but a few hurried, embarrassed words, Clarice Plumehad said adieu to Sandy, thinking never to see it again. They stoodand watched her past the one unlighted house, the northernmost alongthe row. They knew not that Mr. Blakely was at the moment biddingadieu to others in far humbler station. They only noted that, even atthe last, he was not there to wave a good-by to the woman who had onceso influenced his life. Slowly then the little group dissolved anddrifted away. She had gone unchallenged of any authority, though thefate of Mullins still hung in the balance. Obviously, then, it was notshe whom Byrne's report had implicated, if indeed that report hadnamed anybody. There had been no occasion for a coroner and jury. There would have been neither coroner nor jury to serve, had they beencalled for. Camp Sandy stood in a little world of its own, the onlycivil functionary within forty miles being a ranchman, dwelling sevenmiles down stream, who held some Territorial warrant as a justice ofthe peace. 

But Norah Shaughnessy, from the gable window of the Trumans' quarters, shook a hard-clinching Irish fist and showered malediction after theswiftly speeding ambulance. "Wan 'o ye, " she sobbed, "dealt PatMullins a coward and cruel blow, and I'll know which, as soon as everthat poor bye can spake the truth. " She would have said it to thathated Frenchwoman herself, had not mother and mistress both forbadeher leaving the room until the Plumes were gone. 

Three trunks had been stacked up and secured on the hanging rack atthe rear of the Concord. Others, with certain chests and boxes, hadbeen loaded into one big wagon and sent ahead. The ambulance, withthe Dalys and the little escort of seven horsemen, awaited the rest ofthe convoy on the northward flats, and the cloud of their combineddust hung long on the scarred flanks as the first rays of the risingsun came gilding the rocks at Boulder Point, and what was left of thegarrison at Sandy turned out for reveille. 

That evening, for the first time since his injury, Mr. Blakely tookhis horse and rode away southward in the soft moonlight, and had notreturned when tattoo sounded. The post trader, coming up with thelatest San Francisco papers, said he had stopped a moment to ask atthe store whether Schandein, the ranchman justice of the peace beforereferred to, had recently visited the post. 

That evening, too, for the first time since his dangerous wound, Trooper Mullins awoke from his long delirium, weak as a little child;asked for Norah, and what in the world was the matter with him--in bedand bandages, and Dr. Graham, looking into the poor lad's dim, half-opening eyes, sent a messenger to Captain Cutler's quarters toask would the captain come at once to hospital. This was at nineo'clock. 

Less than two hours later a mounted orderly set forth with dispatchesfrom the temporary post commander to Colonel Byrne at Prescott. A wirefrom that point about sundown had announced the safe arrival of theparty from Camp Sandy. The answer, sent at ten o'clock, broke up thegame of whist at the quarters of the inspector general. Byrne, therecipient, gravely read it, backed from the table, and vainly strovenot to see the anxious inquiry in the eyes of Major Plume, his guest. But Plume cornered him. 

"From Sandy?" he asked. "May I read it?"

Byrne hesitated just one moment, then placed the paper in his junior'shand. Plume read, turned very white, and the paper fell from histrembling fingers. The message merely said:

 Mullins recovering and quite rational, though very weak. He says two women were his assailants. Courier with dispatches at once. 

 (Signed) CUTLER, Commanding. 

CHAPTER XII

FIRE!

"It was not so much his wounds as his weakness, " Dr. Graham wassaying, later still that autumn night, "that led to my declaringBlakely unfit to take the field. He would have gone in spite of me, but for the general's order. He has gone now in spite of me, and noone knows where. "

It was then nearly twelve o'clock, and "the Bugologist" was stillabroad. Dinner, as usual since his mishap, had been sent over to himfrom the officers' mess soon after sunset. His horse, or rather thetroop horse designated for his use, had been fed and groomed in thelate afternoon, and then saddled at seven o'clock and brought over tothe rear of the quarters by a stable orderly. 

There had been some demur at longer sending Blakely's meals from mess, now reduced to an actual membership of two. Sandy was a "much married"post in the latter half of the 70's, the bachelors of the commissionedlist being only three, all told, --Blakely, and Duane of the Horse, andDoty of the Foot. With these was Heartburn, the contract doctor, andnow Duane and the doctor were out in the mountains and Blakely on sickreport, yet able to be about. Doty thought him able to come to mess. Blakely, thinking he looked much worse than he felt, thanks to hisplastered jowl, stood on his rights in the matter and would not go. There had been some demur on part of the stable sergeant of Wren'stroop as to sending over the horse. Few officers brought eastern-bredhorses to Arizona in those days. The bronco was best suited to thework. An officer on duty could take out the troop horse assigned tohis use any hour before taps and no questions asked; but the sergeanttold Mr. Blakely's messenger that the lieutenant wasn't for duty, andit might make trouble. It did. Captain Cutler sent for old Murray, theveteran sergeant, and asked him did he not know his orders. He hadallowed a horse to be sent to a sick man--an officer not on duty--andone the doctor had warned against exercise for quite a time, at least. And now the officer was gone, so was the horse, and Cutler, beingsorely torn up by the revelations of the evening and dread of illbefalling Blakely, was so injudicious as to hint to a soldier who hadworn chevrons much longer than he, Cutler, had worn shoulder-straps, that the next thing to go would probably be his sergeant's bars, whereat Murray went red to the roots of his hair--which "continued themarch" of the color, --and said, with a snap of his jaws, that he gotthose chevrons, as he did his orders, from his troop commander. Acourt might order them stricken off, but a captain couldn't, otherthan his own. For which piece of impudence the veteran wentstraightway to Sudsville in close arrest. Corporal Bolt was ordered totake over his keys and the charge of the stables until the return ofCaptain Wren, also this order--that no government horse should be sentto Lieutenant Blakely hereafter until the lieutenant was declared bythe post surgeon fit for duty. 

There were left at the post, of each of the two cavalry troops, abouta dozen men to care for the stables, the barracks, and property. Sevenof these had gone with the convoy to Prescott, and, when Cutlerordered half a dozen horsemen out at midnight to follow Blakely'strail and try to find him, they had to draw on both troop stables, andone of the designated men was the wretch Downs, --and Downs was not inhis bunk, --not anywhere about the quarters or corrals. It was nearlyone by the time the party started down the sandy road to the south, Hart and his buckboard and a sturdy brace of mules joining them asthey passed the store. "We may need to bring him back in this, " saidhe, to Corporal Quirk. 

"An' what did ye fetch to bring him _to_ wid?" asked the corporal. Hart touched lightly the breast of his coat, then clucked to his team. "Faith, there's more than wan way of tappin' it then, " said Quirk, butthe cavalcade moved on. 

The crescent moon had long since sunk behind the westward range, andtrailing was something far too slow and tedious. They spurred, therefore, for the nearest ranch, five miles down stream, making theirfirst inquiry there. The inmates were slow to arise, but quick toanswer. Blakely had neither been seen nor heard of. Downs they didn'twish to know at all. Indians hadn't been near the lower valley sincethe "break" at the post the previous week. One of the inmates declaredhe had ridden alone from Camp McDowell within three days, and therewasn't a 'Patchie west of the Matitzal. Hart did all the questioning. He was a business man and a brother. Soldiers, the ranchmen didn'tlike--soldiers set too much value on government property. 

The trail ran but a few hundred yards east of the stream, and close tothe adobe walls of the ranch. Strom, the proprietor, got out hislantern and searched below the point where the little troop had turnedoff. No recent hoof-track, southbound, was visible. "He couldn't havecome this far, " said he. "Better put back!" Put back they did, and bythe aid of Hart's lantern found the fresh trail of a government-shodhorse, turning to the east nearly two miles toward home. Quirk said abad word or two; borrowed the lantern and thoughtfully included theflask; bade his men follow in file and plunged through the underbrushin dogged pursuit. Hart and his team now could not follow. They waitedover half an hour without sign or sound from the trailers, then droveswiftly back to the post. There was a light in the telegraph office, and thither Hart went in a hurry. Lieutenant Doty, combining theduties of adjutant and officer of the day, was up and making therounds. The sentries had just called off three o'clock. 

"Had your trouble for nothing, Hart, " hailed the youngster cheerily. "Where're the men?"

"Followed his trail--turned to the east three miles below here, "answered the trader. 

"Three miles _below_! Why, man, he wasn't below. He met them up BeaverCreek, an' brought 'em in. "

"Brought who in?" asked Hart, dropping his whip. "I don't understand. "

"Why, the scouts, or runners! Wren sent 'em in. He's had a sharp fightup the mountains beyond Snow Lake. Three men wounded. You couldn'thave gone a mile before Blakely led 'em across No. 4's post. Ahorahand another chap--'Patchie-Mohaves. We clicked the news up to Prescottover an hour ago. "

The tin reflector at the office window threw the light of theglass-framed candle straight upon Hart's rubicund face, and that facewas a study. He faltered a bit before he asked:

"Did Blakely seem all right?--not used up, I mean?"

"Seemed weak and tired, but the man is mad to go and join his troopnow--wants to go right out with Ahorah in the morning, and CaptainCutler says no. Oh, they had quite a row!"

They had had rather more than quite a row, if truth were told. Dotyhad heard only a bit of it. Cutler had been taken by surprise when theBugologist appeared, two strange, wiry Apaches at his heels, and atfirst had contented himself with reading Wren's dispatch, repeating itover the wires to Prescott. Then he turned on Blakely, silently, wearily waiting, seated at Doty's desk, and on the two Apaches, silently, stolidly waiting, squatted on the floor. Cutler wished toknow how Blakely knew these couriers were coming, and how he came toleave the post without permission. For a moment the lieutenant simplygazed at him, unanswering, but when the senior somewhat sharplyrepeated the question, in part, Blakely almost as sharply answered: "Idid not know they were coming nor that there was wrong in my going. Major Plume required nothing of the kind when we were merely going outfor a ride. "

[Illustration: "BLAKELY LED 'EM ACROSS NO. 4'S POST"]

This nettled Cutler. He had always said that Plume was lax, and herewas proof of it. "I might have wanted you--I _did_ want you, hoursago, Mr. Blakely, and even Major Plume would not countenance hisofficers spending the greater part of the night away from the post, especially on a government horse, " and there had Cutler the whip handof the scientist, and Blakely had sense enough to see it, yet notsense enough to accept. He was nervous and irritable, as well astired. Graham had told him he was too weak to ride, yet he had gone, not thinking, of course, to be gone so long, but gone deliberately, and without asking the consent of the post commander. "My finding therunners was an accident, " he said, with some little asperity of toneand manner. "In fact, I didn't find them. They found me. I had knownthem both at the reservation. Have I your permission, sir"--this withmarked emphasis--"to take them for something to eat. They are veryhungry, --have come far, and wish to start early and rejoin CaptainWren, --as I do, too. "

"They will start when _I_ am ready, Mr. Blakely, " said Cutler, "andyou certainly will not start before. In point of fact, sir, you maynot be allowed to start at all. "

It was now Blakely's turn to redden to the brows. "You surely will notprevent my going to join my troop, now that it is in contact with theenemy, " said he. "All I need is a few hours' sleep. I can start atseven. "

"You cannot, with my consent, Mr. Blakely, " said the captain dryly. "There are reasons, in fact, why you can't leave here for any purposeunless the general himself give contrary orders. Matters have come upthat--you'll probably have to explain. "

And here Doty entered, hearing only the captain's last. At sight ofhis adjutant the captain stopped short in his reprimand. "See to itthat these runners have a good supper, Mr. Doty, " said Cutler. "Stirup my company cook, if need be, but take them with you now. " Then, turning again on Blakely, "The doctor wishes you to go to bed at once, Mr. Blakely, and I will see you in the morning, but no more ridingaway without permission, " he concluded, and thereby closed theinterview. He had, indeed, other things to say to, and inquire of, Blakely, but not until he had further consulted Graham. He confidentlyexpected the coming day would bring instructions from headquarters tohold both Blakely and Trooper Downs at the post, as a result of hisdispatches, based on the revelation of poor Pat Mullins. But Downs, forewarned, perhaps, had slipped into hiding somewhere--an old trickof his, when punishment was imminent. It might be two or three daysbefore Downs turned up again, if indeed he turned up at all, butBlakely was here and could be held. Hence the "horse order" of theearlier evening. 

It was nearly two when Blakely reached his quarters, rebuffed andstung. He was so nervous, however, that, in spite of serious fatigue, he found it for over an hour impossible to sleep. He turned out hislight and lay in the dark, and the atmosphere of the room seemedheavily charged with rank tobacco. His new "striker" had sat up, itseems, keeping faithful vigil against his master's return, but, as thehours wore on, had solaced himself with pipe after pipe, and wanderingabout to keep awake. Most of the time, he declared, he had spent in abig rocking chair on the porch at the side door, but the scent of theweed and of that veteran pipe permeated the entire premises, and theBugologist hated dead tobacco. He got up and tore down the blanketscreen at the side windows and opened all the doors wide and tried hiscouch again, and still he wooed the drowsy god in vain. "Nor poppy normandragora" had he to soothe him. Instead there were new and anxiousthoughts to vex, and so another half hour he tossed and tumbled, andwhen at last he seemed dropping to the borderland, perhaps, of dreams, he thought he must be ailing again and in need of new bandages orcooling drink or something, for the muffled footfalls, betrayed bycreaking pine rather than by other sound, told him drowsily that theattendant or somebody, cautioned not to disturb him, was movingslowly across the room. He might have been out on the side porch toget cool water from the _olla_, but he needn't be so confoundedly slowand cautious, though he couldn't help the creaking. Then, what couldthe attendant want in the front room, where were still so many of theprecious glass cases unharmed, and the Bugologist's favorite books andhis big desk, littered with papers, etc. ? Blakely thought to hail andwarn him against moving about among those brittle glass things, butreflected that he, the new man, had done the reshifting under his, Blakely's, supervision, and knew just where each item was placed andhow to find the passage way between them. It really was a trifleintricate. How could he have gone into the spare room at CaptainWren's, and there made his home as--she--Mrs. Plume had firstsuggested? There would not have been room for half his plunder, to saynothing of himself. "What on earth can Nixon want?" he sleepily askedhimself, "fumbling about there among those cases? Was that a crack ora snap?" It sounded like both, a splitting of glass, a wrenching oflock spring or something. "Be careful there!" he managed to call. Noanswer. Perhaps it was some one of the big hounds, then, wanderingrestlessly about at night. They often did, and--why, yes, that wouldaccount for it. Doors and windows were all wide open here, what was toprevent? Still, Blakely wished he hadn't extinguished his lamp. Hemight then have explored. The sound ceased entirely for a moment, and, now that he was quite awake, he remembered that the hospital attendantwas no longer with him. Then the sounds must have been made by thestriker or the hounds. Blakely had no dogs of his own. Indeed theywere common property at the post, most of them handed down with therest of the public goods and chattels by their predecessors of the ----th. At all events, he felt far too languid, inert, weak, indifferent orsomething. If the striker, he had doubtless come down for cool water. Ifthe hounds, they were in search of something to eat, and in either casewhy bother about it? The incident had so far distracted his thoughtsfrom the worries of the night that now, at last and in good earnest, hewas dropping to sleep. 

But in less than twenty minutes he was broad awake again, with suddenstart--gasping, suffocating, listening in amaze to a volley ofsnapping and cracking, half-smothered, from the adjoining room. Hesprang from his bed with a cry of alarm and flung himself through athick, hot veil of eddying, yet invisible, smoke, straight for thecommunicating doorway, and was brought up standing by banging his headagainst the resounding pine, tight shut instead of open as he had leftit, and refusing to yield to furious battering. It was locked, bolted, or barred from the other side. Blindly he turned and rushed for theside porch and the open air, stumbling against the striker as thelatter came clattering headlong down from aloft. Then together theyrushed to the parlor window, now cracking and splitting from thefurious heat within. A volume of black fume came belching forth, driven and lashed by ruddy tongues of flame within, and their shoutsfor aid went up on the wings of the dawn, and the infantry sentry onthe eastward post came running to see; caught one glimpse of the glareat that southward window; bang went his rifle with a ring that cameechoing back from the opposite cliffs, as all Camp Sandy sprang fromits bed in answer to the stentorian shout "Fire! No. 5!"

CHAPTER XIII

WHOSE LETTERS?

There is something about a night alarm of fire at a military post thatborders on the thrilling. In the days whereof we write the buildingswere not the substantial creations of brick and stone to be seento-day, and those of the scattered "camps" and stations in that arid, sun-scorched land of Arizona were tinder boxes of the flimsiest andmost inflammable kind. 

It could hardly have been a minute from the warning shot and yell ofNo. 5--repeated right and left by other sentries and echoed by No. 1at the guard-house--before bugle and trumpet were blaring their fiercealarm, and the hoarse roar of the drum was rousing the inmates of theinfantry barracks. Out they came, tumbling pell-mell into theaccustomed ranks, confronted by the sight of Blakely's quarters onebroad sheet of flame. With incredible speed the blaze had burst forthfrom the front room on the lower floor; leaped from window to window, from ledge to ledge; fastened instantly on overhanging roof, and theshingled screen of the veranda; had darted up the dry wooden stairway, devouring banister, railing, and snapping pine floor, and then, billowing forth from every crack, crevice, and casement of the upperfloor streamed hissing and crackling on the blackness that precedesthe dawn, a magnificent glare that put to shame the feeble signalfires lately gleaming in the mountains. Luckily there was nowind--there never was a wind at Sandy--and the flames leaped straightfor the zenith, lashing their way into the huge black pillar of smokecloud sailing aloft to the stars. 

Under their sergeants, running in disciplined order, one company hadsped for the water wagon and were now slowly trundling that unwieldyvehicle, pushing, pulling, straining at the wheels, from its nightberth close to the corrals. Rushing like mad, in no order at all, themen of the other company came tearing across the open parade, and werefaced and halted far out in front of officers' row by Blakely himself, barefooted and clad only in his pyjamas, but all alive with vim andenergy. 

"Back, men! back for your blankets!" he cried. "Bring ladders andbuckets! Back with you, lively!" They seemed to catch his meaning atthe instant. His soldier home with everything it contained was doomed. Nothing could save it. But there stood the next quarters, --Truman'sand Westervelt's double set, --and in the intense heat that mustspeedily develop, it might well be that the dry, resinous woodworkthat framed the adobe would blaze forth on its own account and spreada conflagration down the line. Already Mrs. Truman, with Norah and thechildren, was being hurried down to the doctor's, while Trumanhimself, with the aid of two or three neighboring "strikers, " hadstripped the beds of their single blanket and, bucketing these withwater, was slashing at the veranda roof and cornice along thenorthward side. 

Somebody came with a short ladder, and in another moment three or fouradventurous spirits, led by Blakely and Truman, were scrambling aboutthe veranda roof, their hands and faces glowing in the gathering heat, spreading blankets over the shingling and cornice. In five minutes allthat was left of Blakely's little homestead was gone up in smoke andfierce, furious heat and flame, but the daring and well-directedeffort of the garrison had saved the rest of the line. In ten minutesnothing but a heap of glowing beams and embers, within four crumblingwalls of adobe, remained of the "beetle shop. " Bugs, butterflies, books, chests, desk, trunks, furniture, papers, and such martialparaphernalia as a subaltern might require in that desert land, hadbeen reduced to ashes before their owner's eyes. He had not saved somuch as a shoe. His watch, lying on the table by his bedside, a silkhandkerchief, and a little scrap of a note, written in girlish handand carried temporarily in the breast pocket, were the only items hehad managed to bring with him into the open air. He was still gasping, gagging, half-strangling, when Captain Cutler accosted him to know ifhe could give the faintest explanation of the starting of so strangeand perilous a fire, and Blakely, remembering the stealthy footstepsand that locked or bolted door, could not but say he believed itincendiary, yet could think of no possible motive. 

It was daybreak as the little group of spectators, women and childrenof the garrison, began to break up and return to their homes, alltalking excitedly, all intolerant of the experiences of others, andcentered solely in the narrative of their own. Leaving a dozen menwith buckets, readily filled from the acequia which turned the oldwater wheel just across the post of No. 4, and sending the big waterwagon down to the stream for another liquid load, the infantry wentback to their barracks and early coffee. The drenched blankets, one byone, were stripped from the gable end of Truman's quarters, everysquare inch of the paint thereon being now a patch of tiny blisters, and there, as the dawn broadened and the pallid light took on again atinge of rose, the officers gathered about Blakely in his scorched andsoaked pyjamas, extending both condolence and congratulation. 

"The question is, Blakely, " remarked Captain Westervelt dryly, "willyou go to Frisco to refit now, or wait till Congress reimburses?"whereat the scientist was observed to smile somewhat ruefully. "Thequestion is, Bugs, " burst in young Doty irrepressibly, "will you wearthis rig, or Apache full dress, when you ride after Wren? The runnersstart at six, " whereat even the rueful smile was observed to vanish, and without answer Blakely turned away, stepping gingerly into theheated sand with his bare white feet. 

"Don't bother about dousing anything else, sergeant, " said hepresently, to the soldier supervising the work of the bucket squad. "The iron box should be under what's left of my desk--about there, "and he indicated a charred and steaming heap, visible through a gap inthe doubly baked adobe that had once been the side window. "Lug thatout as soon as you can cool things off. I'll probably be back by thattime. " Then, turning again to the group of officers, and ignoringDoty--Blakely addressed himself to the senior. 

"Captain Cutler, " said he, "I can fit myself out at the troop quarterswith everything I need for the field, at least, and wire to SanFrancisco for what I shall need when we return. I shall be ready to gowith Ahorah at six. "

There was a moment of silence. Embarrassment showed plainly in almostevery face. When Cutler spoke it was with obvious effort. Everybodyrealized that Blakely, despite severe personal losses, had been thedirecting head in checking the progress of the flames. Truman hadborne admirable part, but Blakely was at once leader and actor. Hedeserved well of his commander. He was still far from strong. He wasweak and weary. His hands and face were scorched and in placesblistered, yet, turning his back on the ruins of his treasures, hedesired to go at once to join his comrades in the presence of theenemy. He had missed every previous opportunity of sharing perils andbattle with them. He could afford such loss as that no longer, in viewof what he knew had been said. He had every right, so thought theyall, to go, yet Cutler hesitated. When at last he spoke it was totemporize. 

"You're in no condition for field work, Mr. Blakely, " said he. "Thedoctor has so assured me, and just now things are taking such shapeI--need you here. "

"You will permit me to appeal by wire, sir?" queried Blakely, standingattention in his bedraggled night garb, and forcing himself to asemblance of respect that he was far from feeling. 

"I--I will consult Dr. Graham and let you know, " was the captain'sawkward reply. 

Two hours later Neil Blakely, in a motley dress made up of collectionsfrom the troop and trader's stores--a combination costume of blueflannel shirt, bandanna kerchief, cavalry trousers with machine-madesaddle piece, Tonto moccasins and leggings, fringed gauntlets and abroad-brimmed white felt hat, strode into the messroom in quest ofeggs and coffee. Doty had been there and vanished. Sick call wassounding and Graham was stalking across the parade in the direction ofthe hospital, too far away to be reached by human voice, unlessuplifted to the pitch of attracting the whole garrison. The telegraphoperator had just clicked off the last of half a dozen messagesscrawled by the lieutenant--orders on San Francisco furnishers for thenew outfit demanded by the occasion, etc. , but Captain Cutler wasstill mured within his own quarters, declining to see Mr. Blakelyuntil ready to come to the office. Ahorah and his swarthy partner werealready gone, "started even before six, " said the acting sergeantmajor, and Blakely was fuming with impatience and sense of somethingmuch amiss. Doty was obviously dodging him, there could be no doubtof that, for the youngster was between two fires, the post commander'spositive orders on one hand and Blakely's urgent pleadings on theother. 

Over at "C" Troop's quarters was the lieutenant's saddle, ready packedwith blanket, greatcoat, and bulging saddle-bags. Over in "C" Troop'sstables was Deltchay--the lieutenant's bronco charger, ready fed andgroomed, wondering why he was kept in when the other horses were outat graze. With the saddle kit were the troop carbine and revolver, Blakely's personal arms being now but stockless tubes of seared andblistered steel. Back of "C" Troop's quarters lolled a half-breedMexican packer, with a brace of mules, one girt with saddle, the otherin shrouding aparejo--diamond-hitched, both borrowed from the posttrader with whom Blakely's note of hand was good as a government fourper cent. --all ready to follow the lieutenant to the field whitherright and duty called him. There, too, was Nixon, the new "striker, "new clad as was his master, and full panoplied for the field, yetbemoaning the loss of soldier treasures whose value was never fullyrealized until they were irrevocably gone. Six o'clock, six-thirty, six-forty-five and even seven sped by and still there came no summonsto join the soldier master. There had come instead, when Nixon urgedthat he be permitted to lead forth both his own troop horse andDeltchay, the brief, but significant reply: "Shut yer gab, Nixon. There's no horse goes till the captain says so!"

At seven o'clock, at last, the post commander came forth from hisdoorway; saw across the glaring level of the parade the form of Mr. Blakely impatiently pacing the veranda at the adjutant's office, and, instead of going thither, as was his wont, Captain Cutler turned theother way and strode swiftly to the hospital, where Graham met him atthe bedside of Trooper patient Patrick Mullins. "How is he?" queriedCutler. 

"Sleeping--thank God--and not to be wakened, " was the Scotchman'sanswer. "He had a bad time of it during the fire. "

"What am I to tell Blakely?" demanded Cutler, seeking strength for hisfaltering hand. "You're bound to help me now, Graham. "

"Let him go and you _may_ make it worse, " said the doctor, with aclamp of his grizzled jaws. "Hold him here and you're sure to. "

"Can't you, as post surgeon, tell him he isn't fit to ride?"

"Not when he rides the first half of the night and puts out a nastyfire the last. Can't you, as post commander, tell him you forbid hisgoing till you hear from Byrne and investigate the fire?" If Grahamhad no patience with a frail woman, he had nothing but contempt for aweak man. "If he's bound to be up and doing something, though, " headded, "send him out with a squad of men and orders to hunt forDowns. "

Cutler had never even thought of it. Downs was still missing. No onehad seen him. His haunts had been searched to no purpose. His horsewas still with the herd. One man, the sergeant of the guard, theprevious day, had marked the brief farewell between the missing manand the parting maid--had seen the woman's gloved hand stealthily putforth and the little folded packet passed to the soldier's ready palm. What that paper contained no man ventured to conjecture. Cutler andGraham, notified by Sergeant Kenna of what he had seen, puzzled overit in vain. Norah Shaughnessy could perhaps unravel it, thought thedoctor, but he did not say. 

Cutler came forth from the shaded depths of the broad hallway to facethe dazzling glare of the morning sunshine, and the pale, stern, reproachful features of the homeless lieutenant, who simply raised hishand in salute and said: "I've been ready two hours, sir, and therunners are long gone. "

"Too long and too far for you to catch them now, " said Cutler, catching at another straw. "And there is far more important matterhere. Mr. Blakely, I want that man Downs followed, found, and broughtback to this post, and you're the only man to do it. Take a dozentroopers, if necessary, and set about it, sir, at once. "

A soldier was at the moment hurrying past the front of the hospital, agrimy-looking packet in his hand. Hearing the voice of Captain Cutler, he turned, saw Lieutenant Blakely standing there at attention, sawthat, as the captain finished, Blakely still remained a moment asthough about to speak--saw that he seemed a trifle dazed or stunned. Cutler marked it, too. "This is imperative and immediate, Mr. Blakely, " said he, not unkindly. "Pull yourself together if you arefit to go at all, and lose no more time. " With that he started away. Graham had come to the doorway, but Blakely never seemed to see him. Instead he suddenly roused and, turning sharp, sprang down the woodensteps as though to overtake the captain, when the soldier, saluting, held forth the dingy packet. 

"It was warped out of all shape, sir, " said he. "The blacksmith priedout the lid wid a crowbar. The books are singed and soaked and thepackages charred--all but this. "

It fell apart as it passed from hand to hand, and a lot of letters, smoke-stained, scorched at the edges, and some of them soaking wet, also two or three _carte de visite_ photographs, were scattered on thesand. Both men bobbed in haste to gather them up, and Graham camehurriedly down to help. As Blakely straightened again he swayed andstaggered slightly, and the doctor grasped him by the arm, a suddenclutch that perhaps shook loose some of the recovered papers from thelong, slim fingers. At all events, a few went suddenly back to earth, and, as Cutler turned, wondering what was amiss, he saw Blakely, withalmost ashen face, supported by the doctor's sturdy arm to a seat onthe edge of the piazza; saw, as he quickly retraced his steps, a sweetand smiling woman's face looking up at him out of the trampled sands, and, even as he stooped to recover the pretty photograph, though itlooked far younger, fairer, and more winsome than ever he had seen it, Cutler knew the face at once. It was that of Clarice, wife of MajorPlume. Whose, then, were those scattered letters?

CHAPTER XIV

AUNT JANET BRAVED

Nightfall of a weary day had come. Camp Sandy, startled from sleep inthe dark hour before the dawn, had found topic for much exciting talk, and was getting tired as the twilight waned. No word had come from theparty sent in search of Downs, now deemed a deserter. No sign of himhad been found about the post. No explanation had occurred to eitherCutler or Graham of the parting between Elise and the late "striker. "She had never been known to notice or favor him in any way before. Hersmiles and coquetries had been lavished on the sergeants. In Downsthere was nothing whatsoever to attract her. It was not likely she hadgiven him money, said Cutler, because he was about the post all thatday after the Plumes' departure and with never a sign of inebriety. Hecould not himself buy whisky, but among the ranchmen, packers, andprospectors forever hanging about the post there were plenty ready toplay middleman for anyone who could supply the cash, and in this waywere the orders of the post commander made sometimes abortive. Downswas gone, that was certain, and the question was, which way?

A sergeant and two men had taken the Prescott road; followed it toDick's Ranch, in the Cherry Creek Valley, and were assured the missingman had never gone that way. Dick was himself a veteran trooper ofthe ----th. He had invested his savings in this little estate andsettled thereon to grow up with the country--the Stannards' winsomeMillie having accepted a life interest in him and his modest property. They knew every man riding that trail, from the daily mail messengerto the semi-occasional courier. Their own regiment had gone, but theyhad warm interest in its successors. They knew Downs, had known himever since his younger days when, a trig young Irish-Englishman, someLondoner's discharged valet, he had 'listed in the cavalry, as heexpressed it, to reform. A model of temperance, soberness, andchastity was Downs between times, and his gifts as groom of thechambers, as well as groom of the stables, made him, when a model, invaluable to bachelor officers in need of a competent soldierservant. In days just after the great war he had won fame and money asa light rider. It was then that Lieutenant Blake had dubbed him"Epsom" Downs, and well-nigh quarreled with his chum, Lieutenant Ray, over the question of proprietorship when the two were sent to separatestations and Downs was "striking" for both. Downs settled the matterby getting on a seven-days' drunk, squandering both fame and money, and, though forgiven the scriptural seventy times seven (during whichterm of years his name was changed to Ups and Downs), finallyforfeited the favor of both these indulgent masters and becamethereafter simply Downs, with no ups of sufficient length to restorethe average--much less to redeem him. And yet, when eventually"bobtailed" out of the ----th, he had turned up at the old arsenalrecruiting depot at St. Louis, clean-shaven, neat, deft-handed, helpful, to the end that an optimistic troop commander "took him onagain, " in the belief that a reform had indeed been inaugurated. But, like most good soldiers, the commander referred to knew little ofpolitics or potables, otherwise he would have set less store by thestrength of the reform movement and more by that of the potations. Downs went so far on the highroad to heaven this time as to drinknothing until his first payday. Meantime, as his captain's mercury, messenger, and general utility man, moving much in polite society atthe arsenal and in town, he was frequently to be seen aboutHeadquarters of the Army, then established by General Sherman as faras possible from Washington and as close to the heart of St. Louis. Helearned something of the ins and outs of social life in the gay city, heard much theory and little truth about the time that LieutenantBlakely, returning suddenly thereto after an absence of two months, during which time frequent letters had passed between him and ClariceLatrobe, found that Major Plume had been her shadow for weeks, herescort to dance after dance, her companion riding, driving, dining dayafter day. Something of this Blakely had heard in letters fromfriends. Little or nothing thereof had he heard from her. The publicnever knew what passed between them (Elise, her maid, was betterinformed). But Blakely within the day left town again, and within theweek there appeared the announcement of her forthcoming marriage, Plume the presumably happy man. Downs got full the first payday afterhis re-enlistment, as has been said, and drunk, as in duty bound, atthe major's "swagger" wedding. It was after this episode he fellutterly from grace and went forth to the frontier irreclaimably"Downs. " It was a seven-days' topic of talk at Sandy that LieutenantBlakely, when acting Indian agent at the reservation, should haveaccepted the services of this unpromising specimen as "striker. " Itwas a seven-weeks' wonder that Downs kept the pact, and sober as ajudge, from the hour he joined the Bugologist to the night thatself-contained young officer was sent crashing into his beetle showunder the impact of Wren's furious fist. Then came the last pound thatbroke the back of Downs' wavering resolution, and now had come--what?The sergeant and party rode back from Dick's to tell Captain Cutlerthe deserter had not taken the Cherry Creek road. Another party justin reported similarly that he had not taken the old, abandoned GriefHill trail. Still another returned from down-stream ranches to say hecould not have taken that route without being seen--and he had notbeen seen. Ranchman Strom would swear to that because Downs was in hisdebt for value received in shape of whisky, and Strom was rabid at theidea of his getting away. In fine, as nothing but Downs was missing, it became a matter of speculation along toward tattoo as to whetherDowns could have taken anything at all--except possibly his own life. 

Cutler was now desirous of questioning Blakely at length, andobtaining his views and theories as to Downs, for Cutler believed thatBlakely had certain well-defined views which he was keeping tohimself. Between these two, however, had grown an unbridgeable gulf. Dr. Graham had declared at eight o'clock that morning that Mr. Blakelywas still so weak that he ought not to go with the searching parties, and on receipt of this dictum Captain Cutler had issued his, to wit, that Blakely should not go either in search of Downs or in pursuit ofCaptain Wren. It stung Blakely and angered him even against Graham, steeling him against the post commander. Each of these gentlemenbegged him to make his temporary home under his roof, and Blakelywould not. "Major Plume's quarters are now vacant, then, " said Cutlerto Graham. "If he won't come to you or to me, let him take a roomthere. " This, too, Blakely refused. He reddened, what is more, at thesuggestion. He sent Nixon down to Mr. Hart's, the trader's, to ask ifhe could occupy a spare room there, and when Hart said, yes, mostcertainly, Cutler reddened in turn when told of it, and sentLieutenant Doty, the adjutant, to say that the post commander couldnot "consent to an officer's occupying quarters outside the garrisonwhen there was abundant room within. " Then came Truman and Westerveltto beg Blakely to come to them. Then came a note from Mrs. Sanders, reminding him that, as an officer of the cavalry, it would be castingreflections on his own corps to go and dwell with aliens. "CaptainSanders would never forgive me, " said she, "if you did not take ourspare room. Indeed, I shall feel far safer with a man in the house nowthat we are having fires and Indian out-breaks and prisoners escapingand all that sort of thing. _Do_ come, Mr. Blakely. " And in that blueflannel shirt and the trooper trousers and bandanna neckerchief, Blakely went and thanked her; sent for Nixon and his saddle-bags, andwith such patience as was possible settled down forthwith. Truth totell it was high time he settled somewhere, for excitement, exposure, physical ill, and mental torment had told upon him severely. Atsunset, as he seemed too miserable to leave his room and come to thedining table, Mrs. Sanders sent for the doctor, and reluctantlyBlakely let him in. 

That evening, just after tattoo had sounded, Kate Sanders and Angelawere having murmured conference on the Wrens' veranda. Aunt Janet hadgone to hospital to carry unimpeachable jelly to the several patientsand dubious words of cheer. Jelly they absorbed with much avidity andher words with meek resignation. Mullins, she thought, after hisdreadful experience and close touch with death, must be in receptivemood and repentant of his sins. Of just what sins to repent poor Patmight still be unsettled in his mind. It was sufficient that he hadthem, as all soldiers must have, said Miss Wren, and now that hisbrain seemed clearing and the fever gone and he was too weak andhelpless to resist, the time seemed ripe for the sowing of good seed, and Janet went to sow. 

But there by Mullins's bed, all unabashed at Janet's markeddisapprobation, sat Norah Shaughnessy. There, in flannel shirt andtrooper trousers and bandanna neckerchief, pale, but collected, stoodthe objectionable Mr. Blakely. He was bending over, saying somethingto Mullins, as she halted in the open doorway, and Blakely, lookingquickly up, went with much civility to greet and escort her within. Tohis courteous, "Good-evening, Miss Wren, may I relieve you of yourbasket?" she returned prompt negative and, honoring him with nofurther notice, stood and gazed with Miss Shaughnessy at thefocus--Miss Shaughnessy who, after one brief glance, turned a broadIrish back on the intruder at the doorway and resumed her murmuring toMullins. 

"Is the doctor here--or Steward Griffin?" spoke the lady, to the roomat large, looking beyond the lieutenant and toward the single soldierattendant present. 

"The doctor and the steward are both at home just now, Miss Wren, "said Blakely. "May I offer you a chair?"

Miss Wren preferred to stand. 

"I wish to speak with Steward Griffin, " said she again. "Can you gofor him?" this time obviously limiting her language to the attendanthimself, and carefully excluding Mr. Blakely from the field of herrecognition. The attendant dumbly shook his head. So Aunt Janet triedagain. 

"Norah, _you_ know where the steward lives, will you--" But Blakelysaw rebellion awake again in Ireland and interposed. 

"The steward shall be here at once, Miss Wren, " said he, and tiptoedaway. The lady's doubtful eye turned and followed him a moment, thenslowly she permitted herself to enter. Griffin, heading for thedispensary at the moment and apprised of her visit, came hurrying in. Blakely, pondering over the few words Mullins had faintly spoken, walked slowly over toward the line. His talk with Graham had in ameasure stilled the spirit of rancor that had possessed him earlier inthe day. Graham, at least, was stanch and steadfast, not a weathercocklike Cutler. Graham had given him soothing medicine and advised hisstrolling a while in the open air--he had slept so much of thestifling afternoon--and now, hearing the sound of women's voices onthe dark veranda nearest him, he veered to the left, passed around theblackened ruin of his own quarters and down along the rear of the linejust as the musician of the guard was sounding "Lights Out"--"Taps. "

And then a sudden thought occurred to him. Sentries began challengingat taps. He was close to the post of No. 5. He could even see theshadowy form of the sentry slowly pacing toward him, and here he stoodin the garb of a private soldier instead of his official dress. Itcaused him quickly to veer again, to turn to his right, the west, andto enter the open space between the now deserted quarters of thepermanent commander and those of Captain Wren adjoining them to thenorth. Another moment and he stopped short. Girlish voices, low andmurmurous, fell upon his ear. In a moment he had recognized them. "Itwon't take me two minutes, Angela. I'll go and get it now, " were thefirst words distinctly heard, and, with a rustle of skirts, KateSanders bounded lightly from the piazza to the sands and disappearedaround the corner of the major's quarters, going in the direction ofher home. For the first time in many eventful days Blakely stoodalmost within touch of the girl whose little note was even thennestling in an inner pocket, and they were alone. 

"Miss Angela!"

Gently he spoke her name, but the effect was startling. She had beenreclining in a hammock, and at sound of his voice struggled suddenlyto a sitting posture, a low cry on her lips. In some strange way, inthe darkness, the fright, confusion, --whatever it may have been, --shelost her balance and her seat. The hammock whirled from under her, andwith exasperating thump, unharmed but wrathful, the girl was tumbledto the resounding floor. Blakely sprang to her aid, but she was up inthe split of a second, scorning, or not seeing, his eager, outstretched hand. 

"My--Miss Angela!" he began, all anxiety and distress, "I hope you'renot hurt, " and the outstretched hands were trembling. 

"I _know_ I'm not, " was the uncompromising reply, "not in the least;startled--that's all! Gentlemen don't usually come upon one thatway--in the dark. " She was panting a bit, but striving bravely, angrily, to be calm and cool--icy cool. 

"Nor would I have come that way, " then, stupidly, "had I known youwere--here. Forgive me. "

How could she, after that? She had no wish to see him, so she hadschooled herself. She would decline to see him, were he to ask for herat the door; but, not for an instant did she wish to hear that he didnot wish to see her, yet he had haplessly, brusquely said he wouldn'thave come had he known she was there. It was her duty to leave him, instantly. It was her desire first to punish him. 

"My aunt is not at home, " she began, the frost of the Sierras in hertone. 

"I just left her, a moment ago, at the hospital, " said he, steadfastlyignoring her repellent tone. Indeed, if anything, the tone rejoicedhim, for it told a tale she would not have told for realms andempires. He was ten years older and had lived. "But--forgive me, " hewent on, "you are trembling, Miss Angela. " She was, and loathedherself, and promptly denied it. He gravely placed a chair. "You fellheavily, and it must have jarred you. Please sit down, " and steppingto the _olla_, "let me bring you some water. "

She was weak. Her knees, her hands, were shaking as they never shookbefore. He had seen her aunt at the hospital. He had left her auntthere without a moment's delay that he might hasten to see her, Angela. He was here and bending over her, with brimming gourd of coolspring water. Nay, more, with one hand he pressed it to her lips, withthe other he held his handkerchief so that the drops might not fallupon her gown. He was bending over her, so close she could hear, shethought, the swift beating of his heart. She knew that if what AuntJanet had told, and her father had seen, of him were true, she wouldrather die than suffer a touch of his hand. Yet one hand had touchedher, gently, yet firmly, as he helped her to the chair, and the touchshe loathed was sweet to her in spite of herself. From the moment oftheir first meeting this man had done what no other man had donebefore--spoken to her and treated her as a grown woman, with a man'sadmiration in his fine blue eyes, with deference in word and chivalricgrace in manner. And in spite of the mean things whispered abouthim--about him and--anybody, she had felt her young heart going out tohim, her buoyant, joyous, healthful nature opening and expanding inthe sunshine of his presence. And now he had come to seek her, afterall the peril and excitement and trouble he had undergone, and now, all loverlike tenderness and concern, was bending over her andmurmuring to her, his deep voice almost as tremulous as her hand. Oh, it couldn't be true that he--cared for--was interested in--that woman, the major's wife! Not that she _ought_ to care one way or another, except that it was so despicable--so unlike him. Yet she had promisedherself--had virtually promised her father--that she would hold faraloof from this man, and here he stood, so close that theirheart-beats almost intermingled, and he was telling her that he wishedshe had kept and never returned the little butterfly net, for now, when it had won a value it never before had known, it was his fate tolose it. "And now, " he said, "I hope to be sent to-morrow to join yourfather in the field, and I wish to tell you that, whenever I go, Ishall first come to see what you may have to send to him. Will you--behere, Miss Angela?"

For a moment--silence. She was thinking of her duty to her father, ofher implied promise, of all that Janet had told her, and so thinkingcould not for the moment answer--could not meet his earnest gaze. Darkas it was she felt, rather than saw, the glow of his deep blue eyes. She could not mistake the tenderness of his tone. She had so believedin him. He seemed so far above the callow, vapid, empty-headedyoungsters the other girls were twittering about from morn till night. She felt that she believed in him now, no matter what had been said orwho had said it. She felt that if he would but say it was all amistake--that no woman had crossed his threshold, all Camp Sandy mightswear to the truth of the story, and she would laugh at it. But howcould she ask such a thing of him? Her cheeks took fire at thethought. It was he who broke the silence. 

"Something has happened to break your faith in me, Miss Angela, " saidhe, with instant gravity. "I certainly had it--I _know_ I had it--nota week ago"; and now he had dropped to a seat in the swaying hammock, and with calm strength and will bent toward her and compelled herattention. "I have a right to know, as matters stand. Will you tellme, or must I wait until I see your father?" With that Neil Blakelyactually sought to take her hand. She whipped it behind her at theinstant. "Will you tell me?" he repeated, bending closer. 

From down the line, dancing along the wooden veranda, came the soundof swift footfalls--Kate Sanders hurrying back. Another moment and itwould be too late. The denial she longed to hear from his lips mightnever be spoken. If spoken at all it must be here and now, yet howcould she--how could _she_ ask _him_?

"I will tell you, Mr. Blakely. " The words came from the window of thedarkened parlor, close at hand. The voice was that of Janet Wren, austere and uncompromising. "I got here in time to hear yourquestion--I will answer for my niece--"

"Aunt Janet--No!"

"Be quiet, Angela. Mr. Blakely, it is because this child's father saw, and I heard of, that which makes you unworthy the faith of a young, pure-hearted girl. Who was the--the creature to whom you opened yourdoor last Wednesday midnight?"

Kate Sanders, singing softly, blithely, came tripping along themajor's deserted veranda, her fresh young voice, glad, yet subdued, caroling the words of a dear old song that Parepa had made loved andfamous full ten years before:

 "And as he lingered by her side, In spite of his comrade's warning The old, old story was told again At five o'clock in the morning. "

Then came sudden silence, as springing to the sandy ground, the singerreached the Wrens' veranda and saw the dim form of Mr. Blakely, standing silently confronting a still dimmer form, faintly visible atthe side window against the soft, tempered light of the hanging lampin the hall. 

"Who was the creature?" I repeat, were the strange words, in MissWren's most telling tone, that brought Kate Sanders to a halt, startled, silent. 

Then Blakely answered: "Some day I shall tell Miss Angela, madam, butnever--you. Good-night. "

CHAPTER XV

A CALL FOR HELP

That night the wire across the mountains to Prescott was long alivewith news, and there was little rest for operator, adjutant, orcommanding officer at Sandy. Colonel Byrne, it seems, had losttelegraphic touch with his chief, who, quitting Camp McDowell, hadpersonally taken the field somewhere over in the Tonto Basin beyondthe Matitzal Range, and Byrne had the cares of a continent on hishands. Three of the five commands out in the field had had sharpencounters with the foe. Official business itself was sufficientlyengrossing, but there were other matters assuming grave proportions. Mrs. Plume had developed a feverish anxiety to hie on to the Pacificand out of Arizona just at a time when, as her husband had to tellher, it was impossible for him, and impolitic for her, to go. Mattersat Sandy, he explained, were in tangled shape. Mullins partiallyrestored, but still, as Plume assured her, utterly out of his head, had declared that his assailants were women; and other witnesses, Plume would not give names, had positively asserted that Elise hadbeen seen along the sentry post just about the time the stabbingoccurred. Everything now, said he, must depend on Captain Wren, whowas known to have seen and spoken to Elise, and who could probablytestify that she returned to their roof before the tragic affair ofthe night. But Wren was now away up in the mountains beyond Snow Lakeand might be going far over through Sunset Pass to the ColoradoChiquito. Meantime he, Plume, was responsible for Elise, in duty boundto keep her there to face any accuser. In her nervous, semi-hystericalstate the wife could not well be told how much she, too, was involved. It was not necessary. She knew--all Fort Whipple, as Prescott'smilitary post was called, knew all about the fire that had destroyedthe "beetle shop" and Blakely's belongings. Elise, in wild excitement, had rushed to her mistress with that news and the further informationthat Downs was gone and could not be found. This latter fact, indeed, they learned before Plume ever heard of it--and made no mention of itin his presence. 

"I shall have to run down to Sandy again, " said Byrne, to Plume. "Keepup your heart and--watch that Frenchwoman. The jade!" And with thefollowing day he was bounding and bumping down the stony road that ledfrom the breezy, pine-crested heights about headquarters to the sandyflats and desert rocks and ravines fifty miles to the east andtwenty-five hundred feet below. "Shall be with you after dark, " hewired Cutler, who was having a bad quarter of an hour on his ownaccount, and wishing all Sandy to the devil. It had transpired thatStrom's rival ranchman, a little farther down the valley, was shortjust one horse and set of horse equipments. He had made no complaint. He had accused nobody. He had never failed in the past to appear atSandy with charge of theft and demand for damages at the expense ofthe soldiery whenever he missed an item, big or little--and sometimeswhen he didn't miss a thing. But now he came not at all, and Cutlerjumped at the explanation: he had sold that steed, and Downs, thedeserter, was the purchaser. Downs must have had money to aid in hisescape. Downs must have received it from someone eager to get him outof the way. It might well be Elise, for who else would trust him? andDowns must be striking for the south, after wide _détour_. No use nowto chase him. The wire was the only thing with which to round him up, so the stage stations on the Gila route, and the scattered army posts, were all notified of the desertion, and Downs's description, with allhis imperfections, was flashed far and wide over the Territory. Hecould no more hope to escape than fly on the wings of night. He wouldbe cut off or run down long before he could reach Mexico; that is, he_would_ be if only troopers got after him. The civil list of Arizonain 1875 was of peculiar constitution. It stood ready at any time toresolve itself into a modification of the old-day undergroundrailways, and help spirit off soldier criminals, first thoughtfullyrelieving them of care and responsibility for any surplus funds intheir possession. 

And with Downs gone one way, Wren's troop gone another, and Blakelyhere clamoring to follow, Cutler was mentally torn out of shape. Hebelieved it his duty to hold Blakely at least until the colonel came, and he lacked the "sand" to tell him so. 

From Wren not another word had been received direct, but Bridger atthe agency had sent word that the Indians there were constantly inreceipt of news from the hostiles that filled them with excitement. Wren, at last accounts, had gone into the mountains south of SunsetPass toward Chevlon's Fork, and his trail was doubtless watched tohead off couriers or cut down stragglers. Blakely's appeal to beallowed to follow and join his troop had been declared foolish, andthe attempt foolhardy, by Captain Cutler. This and not the real reasonwas given, coupled of course, with the doctor's dictum. But evenGraham had begun to think Blakely would be the better for anythingthat would take him away from a station where life had been one swiftsuccession of ills and mishaps. 

And even Graham did not dream how sorely Blakely had been hit. Norcould he account for the access of nervous irritability that possessedhis patient all the livelong day, while waiting, as they all were, forthe coming of Colonel Byrne. Mrs. Sanders declared to Mrs. Graham herprivate impression that he was on the verge of prostration, although, making an effort, Blakely had appeared at breakfast after an earlymorning walk, had been most courteous, gentle, and attentive to herand to her wholesome, if not actually homely, Kate. How the mother'sheart yearned over that sweet-natured, sallow-faced child! But afterbreakfast Blakely had wandered off again and was out on the _mesa_, peering through a pair of borrowed glasses over the dreary eastwardlandscape and up and down the deep valley. "How oddly are weconstituted!" said Mrs. Sanders. "If I only had his money, I'd neverbe wearing my heart out in this desert land. " She was not the onlyarmy wife and mother that should have married a stockbroker--anythingrather than a soldier. 

The whole post knew by noon that Byrne was coming, and waited withfeverish impatience. Byrne was the power that would put an end to thedoubts and distractions, decide who stabbed Pat Mullins, who set fireto the "beetle shop, " where Epsom Downs had gone, and could evensettle, possibly, the long-doubtful question, "Who struck BillyPatterson?" Sandy believed in Byrne as it did in no one since the daysof General Crook. With two exceptions, all Sandy society was out onthe parade, the porticoes, or the northward bluff, as the sun wentdown. These two were the Misses Wren. "Angela, " said Miss Janet, "iskeeping her room to-day, and pretending to keep her temper"--this toKate Sanders, who had twice sought admission, despite a girlish aweof, if not aversion to, this same Aunt Janet. 

"But don't you think she'd like to see me just a little while, MissWren?" the girl inquired, her hand caressing the sleek head of one ofthe big hounds as she spoke. Hounds were other objects of Miss Wren'sdisfavor. "Lazy, pilfering brutes, " she called them, when after hoursof almost incredible labor and ingenious effort they had managed totear down, and to pieces, a haunch of venison she had slung to therafters of the back porch. "You can come in, Kate, provided you keepout the dogs, " was her ungracious answer, "and I'll go see. I thinkshe's sleeping now, and ought not to be disturbed. "

"Then I won't disturb her, " was Miss Sanders's prompt reply, as sheturned away and would have gone, but the elder restrained her. Janetdid not wish the girl to go at all. She knew Angela had asked for her, and doubtless longed to see her; and now, having administered herfeline scratch and made Kate feel the weight of her disapproval, shewas quite ready to promote the very interview she had verballycondemned. Perhaps Miss Sanders saw and knew this and preferred toworry Miss Wren as much as possible. At all events, only withreluctance did she obey the summons to wait a minute, and stood with apout on her lips as the spinster vanished in the gloom of the hallway. Angela could not have been asleep, for her voice was audible in aninstant. "Come up, Kate, " she feebly cried, just as Aunt Janet hadbegun her little sermon, and the sermon had to stop, for Kate Sanderscame, and neither lass was in mood to listen to pious exhortation. Moreover, they made it manifest to Aunt Janet that there would be nointerchange of confidences until she withdrew. "You are not to talkyourselves into a pitch of excitement, " said she. "Angela must sleepto-night to make up for the hours she lost--thanks to the abominableremarks of that hardened young man. " With that, after a pull at thecurtain, a soothing thump or two at Angela's pillow, and the mutteredwish that the coming colonel were empowered to arrest recalcitrantnieces as well as insubordinate subs, she left them to their owndevices. They were still in eager, almost breathless chat when thecrack of whip and sputter of hoofs and wheels through gravelly sandstold that the inspector's ambulance had come. Was it likely thatAngela could sleep until she heard the probable result of theinspector's coming?

He was closeted first with Cutler. Then Dr. Graham was sent for, andthe three walked over to the hospital, just as the musicians wereforming for tattoo. They were at Mullins's bedside, with the stewardand attendants outside, when taps went wailing out upon the night. There were five minutes of talk with that still bewildered patient. Then Byrne desired to see Mr. Blakely at once and alone. Cutlersurrendered his office to the department inspector, and thither thelieutenant was summoned. Mrs. Sanders, with Mrs. Truman, was keepinglittle Mrs. Bridger company at the moment, and Blakely bowedcourteously to the three in passing by. 

"Even in that rough dress, " said Mrs. Sanders reflectively, as hereyes followed the tall, straight figure over the moonlit parade, "heis a most distinguished looking man. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Bridger, still unappeased. "If he were a Sioux, Isuppose they'd call him 'Man-In-Love-With-His-Legs. '" Blakely heardthe bubble of laughter that followed him on his way, and wished thathe, too, felt in mood as merry. The acting sergeant major, a clerk, and young Cassidy, the soldier telegraph operator, seated at thewestward end of the rough board porch of the adjutant's office, aroseand saluted as he entered. Byrne had sent every possible hearer out ofthe building. 

Five minutes the conference lasted, no sound coming from within. Cutler and Graham, with Captain Westervelt, sat waiting on the porchof the doctor's quarters, Mrs. Graham being busy with her progenyaloft. Others of the officers and families were also on the piazzas, or strolling slowly up and down the pathway, but all eyes wanderedfrom time to time toward the dim light at the office. All was dark atthe barracks. All was hushed and still about the post. The sentry callfor half-past ten was still some minutes' distant, when one of thethree seated figures at the end of the office porch was seen to rise. Then the other two started to their feet. The first hastened to thedoor and began to knock. So breathless was the night that over on theverandas the imperative thumping could be distinctly heard, andeveryone ceased talk and listened. Then, in answer to some query fromwithin, the voice of young Cassidy was uplifted. 

"I beg pardon, sir, but that's the agency calling me, and it's hurry. "

They saw the door open from within; saw the soldier admitted and thedoor closed after him; saw the two men waiting standing and expectant, no longer content to resume their chat. For three minutes of suspensethere came no further sound. Then the door was again thrown open, andboth Byrne and Blakely came hurrying out. In the memory of theearliest inhabitant never had Sandy seen the colonel walk so fast. Together they came striding straight toward Cutler's, and the captainarose and went to meet them, foreboding in his soul. Graham andWestervelt, restrained by discipline, held back. The women and youngerofficers, hushed by anxiety, gazed at the swift-coming pair in dreadand fascination. There was a moment of muttered conference with thecommanding officer, some hurried words, then Blakely was seen tospring away, to be recalled by Cutler, to start a second time, only tobe again recalled. Then Cutler, shouting, "Mr. Doty, I need you!"hurried away toward the office, and Blakely, fairly running, spedstraight for the barracks of Wren's troop. Only Byrne was left toanswer the storm of question that burst upon him all at once, womenthronging about him from all along the line. 

"We have news from the agency, " said he. "It is from Indian runners, and may not be reliable--some rumor of a sharp fight near SunsetPass. "

"Are there particulars, colonel--anybody killed or wounded?" It wasMrs. Sanders who spoke, her face very pale. 

"We cannot know--as yet. It is all an Indian story. Mr. Blakely isgoing at once to investigate, " was the guarded answer. But Mrs. Sanders knew, as well as a dozen others, that there _were_particulars--that somebody had been killed or wounded, for Indianstories to that effect had been found singularly reliable. It wasWren's troop that had gone to Sunset Pass, and here was Wren's sisterwith question in her eye, and at sight of her the colonel turned andhurried back to headquarters, following the post commander. 

Another moment and Blakely, in the broad light streaming suddenly fromthe office room of Wren's troop, came speeding straight across theparade again in the direction of Sanders's quarters, next to the lastat the southward end of the row. They sought, of course, to intercepthim, and saw that his face was pale, though his manner was as composedas ever. To every question he had but one thing to say: "Colonel Byrneand the captain know all that I do--and more. Ask them. " But this hesaid with obvious wish to be questioned no further, --said it gently, but most firmly, --and then, with scant apology, passed on. Fiveminutes more and Nixon was lugging out the lieutenant's field kit onthe Sanders's porch, and Blakely, reappearing, went straight up therow to Wren's. It was now after 10. 30, but he never hesitated. MissJanet, watching him from the midst of her friends, saw him stride, unhesitatingly, straight to the door and knock. She followedinstantly, but, before she could reach the steps, Kate Sanders, withwonder in her eyes, stood faltering before him. 

"Will you say to Miss Angela that I have come as I promised? I amgoing at once to--join the troop. Can I see her?" he asked. 

"She isn't well, Mr. Blakely. She hasn't left her room to-day. " AndMiss Sanders began herself to tremble, for up the steps came theresolute lady of the house, whom seeing, Mr. Blakely honored with acivil bow, but with not a word. 

"I will hear your message, Mr. Blakely, " said Miss Wren, pallid, too, and filled with wordless anxiety, but determined none the less. 

"Miss Sanders has heard it, madam, " was the uncompromising answer. "Will you see Miss Angela, please?" This again to Kate--and, withoutanother word, she went. 

"Mr. Blakely, " began the lady impressively, "almost the last thing mybrother said to me before leaving the post was that he wished nomeetings between you and Angela. Why do you pursue her? Do you wish tocompel me to take her away?"

For a moment he was silent. Then, "It is I who must go, Miss Wren, "was the answer, and she, who expected resentment, looked at him insurprise, so gentle, so sorrowing was his tone. "I had hoped to bearher message, but shall intrude no more. If the news that came to-nightshould be confirmed--and only in that event--say to her, if youplease, that I shall do my best to find her father. "

CHAPTER XVI

A RETURN TO COMMAND

With but a single orderly at his back, Mr. Blakely had left Camp Sandylate at night; had reached the agency, twenty miles up stream, twohours before the dawn and found young Bridger waiting for him. Theyhad not even a reliable interpreter now. Arahawa, "WashingtonCharley, " had been sent to the general at Camp McDowell. Lola'sfather, with others of her kin, had taken Apache leave and gone insearch of the missing girl. But between the sign language and the_patois_ of the mountains, a strange mixture of Spanish, English, andTonto Apache, the officers had managed, with the aid of their men, togather explanation of the fierce excitement prevailing all thatprevious day among the Indians at the agency. There had been anotherfight, a chase, a scattering of both pursuers and pursued. Most of thetroops were at last accounts camping in the rocks near Sunset Pass. Two had been killed, several were wounded, three were missing, lost toeverybody. Even the Apaches swore they knew not where they were--asergeant, a trumpeter, and "Gran Capitan" himself--Captain Wren. 

In the paling starlight of the coming day Blakely and Bridger pliedthe reluctant Indians with questions in every form possible withtheir limited knowledge of the sign language. Blakely, having spent somany years on staff duty, had too little knowledge of practicalservice in the field. Bridger was but a beginner at best. Togetherthey had decided on their course. A wire was sent to Sandy saying thatfrom all they could gather the rumors were probably true, but urgingthat couriers be sent for Dick, the Cherry Creek settler, and WalesArnold, another pioneer who had lived long in Apache land and owned aranch on the little Beaver. They could get more out of the Indiansthan could these soldiers. It would be hours after dawn before eitherDick or his fellow frontiersman could arrive. Meanwhile Sandy mustbear the suspense as well as it might. The next wire came from Bridgerat nine o'clock:

 Arnold arrived hour ago. Examined six. Says stories probably true. Confident Wren not killed. 

For answer Byrne wired that a detachment of a dozen men with threepackers had marched at five o'clock to report to Blakely for such dutyas he might require, and the answer came within the minute:

 Blakely gone. Started for Snow Lake 4. 30. Left orders detachment follow. Took orderly and two Apache Yuma scouts. 

Byrne, Cutler, and Graham read with grave and anxious faces, but saidvery little. It was Blakely's way. 

And that was the last heard of the Bugologist for as much as a week. 

Meantime there was a painful situation at Fort Whipple, away up in"the hills. " Major Plume, eager on his wife's account to get her tothe seashore--"Monterey or Santa Barbara, " said the sapient medicaldirector--and ceaselessly importuned by her and viciously nagged byElise, found himself bound to the spot. So long as Mullins stuck tohis story Plume knew it would never do for him to leave. "A day or twomore and he may abate or amend his statement, " wrote Graham. Indeed, if Norah Shaughnessy were not there to prompt--to prop--his memory, Graham thought it like enough that even now the soldier would havewavered. But never a jot or tittle had Mullins been shaken from theoriginal statement. 

"There was two women, " he said, "wid their shawls over their heads, "and those two, refusing to halt at his demand, had been overtaken andone of them seized, to his bitter cost, for the other had driven akeen-bladed knife through his ribs, even as he sought to examine hiscaptive. "They wouldn't spake, " said he, "so what could I do but pullthe shawl from the face of her to see could she be recognized?" Thencame the fierce, cat-like spring of the taller of the two. Then thewell-nigh fatal thrust. What afterwards became of the women he couldsay no more than the dead. Norah might rave about its being theFrenchwoman that did it to protect the major's lady--this he spoke inwhispered confidence and only in reply to direct question--but itwouldn't be for the likes of him to preshume. Mullins, it seems, was asoldier of the old school. 

Then came fresh and dire anxiety at Sandy. Four days after Blakely'sstart there appeared two swarthy runners from the way of Beaver Creek. They bore a missive scrawled on the paper lining of a cracker box, andit read about as follows:

 CAMP IN SUNSET PASS, November 3d. 

 COMMANDING OFFICER, CAMP SANDY:

 Scouting parties returning find no trace of Captain Wren and Sergeant Carmody, but we shall persevere. Indians lurking all about us make it difficult. Shall be needing rations in four days. All wounded except Flynn doing fairly well. Hope couriers sent you on 30th and 31st reached you safely. 

The dispatch was in the handwriting of Benson, a trooper of goodeducation, often detailed for clerical work. It was signed "Brewster, Sergeant. "

Who then were the couriers, and what had become of them? What fate hadattended Blakely in his lonely and perilous ride? What man or pair ofmen could pierce that cordon of Indians lurking all around them andreach the beleaguered command? What need to speculate on the fate ofthe earlier couriers anyway? Only Indians could hope to outwit Indiansin such a case. It was madness to expect white men to get through. Itwas madness for Blakely to attempt it. Yet Blakely was gone beyondrecall, perhaps beyond redemption. From him, and from the detachmentthat was sent by Bridger to follow his trail, not a word had come ofany kind. Asked if they had seen or heard anything of such parties, the Indian couriers stolidly shook their heads. They had followed theold Wingate road all the way until in sight of the valley. Then, scrambling through a rocky labyrinth, impossible for hoof or wheel, had made a short cut to the head waters of the Beaver. Now Blakely, riding from the agency eastward slowly, should have found that Wingatetrail before the setting of the first day's sun, and his followerscould not have been far behind. It began to look as though theBugologist had never reached the road. It began to be whispered aboutthe post that Wren and his luckless companions might never be found atall. Kate Sanders had ceased her song. She was now with Angela day andnight. 

One hope, a vague one, remained beside that of hearing from thebaker's dozen that rode on Blakely's trail. Just as soon as Byrnereceived the Indian story concerning Wren's disappearance, he sentrunners eastward on the track of Sanders's troop, with written adviceto that officer to drop anything he might be doing along the BlackMesa and, turning northward, to make his way through a countryhitherto untrod by white man, between Baker's Butte at the south andthe Sunset Mountains at the north. He was ordered to scout the cañonof Chevlon's Fork, and to look for sign on every side until, somewhereamong the "tanks" in the solid rock about the mountain gateway knownas Sunset Pass, he should join hands with the survivors of Webb'stroop, nursing their wounded and guarding the new-made graves of theirdead. Under such energetic supervision as that of Captain Sanders itwas believed that even Apache Yuma scouts could be made to accomplishsomething, and that new heart would be given Wren's dispirited men. By this time, too, if Blakely had not fallen into the hands of theApaches, he should have been joined by the intended escort, and, thusstrengthened, could either push on to the pass, or, if surrounded, take up some strong position among the rocks and stand off hisassailants until found by his fellow-soldiers under Sanders. Moreover, Byrne had caused report of the situation to be sent to the general viaCamp McDowell, and felt sure he would lose no time in directing thescouting columns to head for the Sunset country. Scattered as were thehostile Apaches, it was apparent that they were in greater forcenorthward, opposite the old reservation, than along the Mogollon Rangesoutheast of it. There was hope, activity, animation, among the littlecamps and garrisons toward the broad valley of the Gila as the earlydays of November wore away. Only here at Sandy was there suspense aswell as deep despond. 

It was a starlit Sunday morning that Blakely rode away eastward fromthe agency. It was Wednesday night when Sergeant Brewster's runnerscame, and never a wink of sleep had they or their inquisitors untilThursday was ushered in. It was Saturday night again, a week from thenight Neil Blakely strove to see and say good-by to Angela Wren. Itwas high time other runners came from Brewster, unless they, too, hadbeen cut off, as must have been the fate of their forerunners. Alldrills had been suspended at Sandy; all duty subordinated to guard. Cutler had practically abolished the daily details, had doubled hissentries, had established outlying pickets, and was even bent onthrowing up intrenchments or at least digging rifle pits, lest theApaches should feel so "cocky" over their temporary successes as toessay an attack on the post. Byrne smiled and said they would hardlytry that, but he approved the pickets. It was noted that for nearly aweek, --not since Blakely's start from the agency, --no signal fires hadbeen seen in the Red Rock country or about the reservation. Mr. Truman, acting as post quartermaster, had asked for additional men toprotect his little herd, for the sergeant in charge declared that, twice, long-distance shots had come from far away up the boulderedheights to the west. The daily mail service had been abandoned, sonervous had the carrier become, and now, twice each week, a corporaland two men rode the rugged trail, thus far without seeing a sign ofApaches. The wire, too, was undisturbed, but an atmosphere of alarmand dread clung about the scattered ranches even as far as the AguaFria to the west, and the few officials left at Prescott found itimpossible to reassure the settlers, who, quitting their new homes, had either clustered about some favored ranch for general defense or, "packing" to Fort Whipple, were clamoring there for protection withwhich to return to and occupy their abandoned roofs. 

And all this, said Byrne, between his set teeth, because a bumptiousagent sought to lay forceful hands upon the daughter of a chief. PoorDaly! He had paid dearly for that essay. As for Natzie, and her shadowLola, neither one had been again seen. They might indeed have droppedback from Montezuma Well after the first wild stampede, but onlyfruitless search had the soldiers made for them. Even their ownpeople, said Bridger, at the agency, were either the biggest liarsthat ever lived or the poorest trailers. The Apaches swore the girlscould not be found. "I'll bet Sergeant Shannon could nail them, " saidHart, the trader, when told of the general denial among the Indians. But Shannon was far away from the field column, leading his moccasinedcomrades afoot and in single file long, wearisome climbs up jaggedcliffs or through deep cañons, where unquestionably the foe had beenin numbers but the day before, yet now they were gone. Shannon mightwell be needed at the far front, now that most of the Apache scoutshad proved timid or worthless, but Byrne wished he had him closerhome. 

It was the Saturday night following the coming of the runners withconfirmation of the grewsome Indian stories. Colonel Byrne, withGraham, Cutler, and Westervelt, had been at the office half an hour inconsultation when, to the surprise of every soul at Sandy, a four-muleteam and Concord wagon came bowling briskly into the post, and MajorPlume, dust-covered and grave, marched into the midst of theconference and briefly said: "Gentlemen, I return to resume command. "

Nobody had a word to say beyond that of welcome. It was manifestly theproper thing for him to do. Unable, in face of the stories afloat, totake his wife away, his proper place in the pressing emergency was athis post in command. 

To Colonel Byrne, who guardedly and somewhat dubiously asked, "Howabout Mrs. Plume and that--French thing?" the major's answer wasprompt:

"Both at Fort Whipple and in--good hands, " said he. "My wife realizesthat my duty is here, and, though her recovery may be retarded, shedeclares she will remain there or even join me. She, in fact, was soinsistent that I should bring her back with me that it embarrassed mesomewhat. I vetoed it, however. "

Byrne gazed at him from under his shaggy eyebrows. "H'm, " said he, "Ifancied she had shaken the dust of Sandy from her shoes for good andall--that she hoped never to come back. "

"I, too, " answered Plume ingenuously. "She hated the very mention ofit, --this is between ourselves, --until this week. Now she says herplace is here with me, no matter how she may suffer, " and the majorseemed to dwell with pride on this new evidence of his wife'sdevotion. It was, indeed, an unusual symptom, and Byrne had to tryhard to look credulous, which Plume appreciated and hurried on:

"Elise, of course, seemed bent on talking her out of it, but, withWren and Blakely both missing, I could not hesitate. I had to come. Oh, captain, is Truman still acting quartermaster?" this to Cutler. "He has the keys of my house, I suppose. "

And so by tattoo the major was once more harbored under his old roofand full of business. From Byrne and his associates he quicklygathered all particulars in their possession. He agreed with themthat another day must bring tidings from the east or prove that theApaches had surrounded and perhaps cut down every man of the command. He listened eagerly to the details Byrne and others were able to givehim. He believed, by the time "taps" came, he had already settled on aplan for another relief column, and he sent for Truman, thequartermaster. 

"Truman, " said he, "how much of a pack train have you got left?"

"Hardly a mule, sir. Two expeditions out from this post swallows uppretty much everything. "

"Very true; yet I may have to find a dozen packs before we get halfthrough this business. The ammunition is in your hands, too, isn't it?Where do you keep it?" and the major turned and gazed out in thestarlight. 

"Only place I got, sir--quartermaster's storehouse, " and Truman eyedhis commander doubtfully. 

"Well, I'm squeamish about such things as that, " said the major, looking even graver, "especially since this fire here. By the way, wasmuch of Blakely's property--er--rescued--or recovered?"

"Very little, sir. Blakely lost pretty much everything, except somepapers in an iron box--the box that was warped all out of shape. "

"Where is it now?" asked Plume, tugging at the strap of a dressingcase and laying it open on the broad window-seat. 

"In my quarters, under my bed, sir. "

"Isn't that rather--unsafe?" asked Plume. "Think how quick _he_ wasburned out. "

"Best I can do, sir. But he said it contained little of value, mainlyletters and memoranda. No valuables at all, in fact. The lock wouldn'twork, so the blacksmith strap-ironed it for him. That prevents itbeing opened by anyone, you know, who hasn't the proper tools. "

"I see, " said Plume reflectively. "It seems rather unusual to takesuch precaution with things of no value. I suppose Blakely knows hisown business, however. Thank you very much Truman. Good-night. "

"I suppose he did, at least, when he had the blacksmith iron thatbox, " thought Truman, as he trudged away. "He did, at any rate, whenhe made me promise to keep it with the utmost care. Not even you canhave it, Major Plume, although you are the post commander. "

CHAPTER XVII

A STRANGE COMING

With one orderly and a pair of Apache Yuma scouts, Neil Blakely hadset forth in hopes of making his way to Snow Lake, far up in the rangeto the east. The orderly was all very well, --like most of his fellows, game, true, and tried, --but few were the leaders who had any faith inApache Yumas. Of those Indians whom General Crook had successivelyconquered, then turned to valuable use, the Hualpais had done well andproved reliable; the Apache Mohaves had served since '73, and in scoutafter scout and many a skirmish had proved loyal and worthy alliesagainst the fierce, intractable Tontos, many of whom had never yetcome in to an agency or accepted the bounty of the government. Even acertain few of these Tontos had proffered fealty and been made usefulas runners and trailers against the recalcitrants of their own band. But the Apache Yumas, their mountain blood tainted by the cross withthe slothful bands of the arid, desert flats of the lower Colorado, had won a bad name from the start, and deserved it. They feared theTontos, who had thrashed them again and again, despoiled them of theirplunder, walked away with their young women, insulted and jeered attheir young men. Except when backed by the braves of other bands, therefore, the Apache Yumas were fearful and timorous on the trail. Once they had broken and run before a mere handful of Tontos, leavinga wounded officer to his fate. Once, when scaling the Black Mesatoward this very Snow Lake, they had whimpered and begged to be senthome, declaring no enemy was there in hiding, when the peaks werefound alive with Tontos. The Red Rock country and the northward spursof the Mogollon seemed fraught with some strange, superstitious terrorin their eyes, and if the "nerve" of a dozen would desert them whenordered east of the Verde, what could be expected of Blakely's two? Nowonder, then, the elders at Sandy were sorely troubled!

But the Bugologist had nothing else to choose from. All the reliable, seasoned scouts were already gone with the various field columns. OnlyApache Yumas remained, and only the least promising of the ApacheYumas at that. Bridger remembered how reluctantly these two had obeyedthe summons to go. "If they don't sneak away and come back swearingthey have lost the lieutenant, I'm a gopher, " said he, and gave ordersaccordingly to have them hauled before him should they reappear. Confidently he looked to see or hear of them as again lurking aboutthe commissary storehouse after the manner of their people, beggars tothe backbone. But the week went by without a sign of them. "There'sonly one thing to explain that, " said he. "They've either deserted tothe enemy or been cut off and killed. " What, then, had become ofBlakely? What fate had befallen Wren?

By this time, late Saturday night, acting for the department commandernow lost somewhere in the mountains, Byrne had re-enforced the guardsat the agency and the garrison at Sandy with infantry drawn from FortWhipple at Prescott, for thither the Apaches would never venture. Theuntrammeled and sovereign citizen had his own way of treating theobnoxious native to the soil. 

By this time, too, further word should have come from some of thefield columns, Sanders's especially. But though runners had reachedthe post bearing brief dispatches from the general, showing that heand the troops from the more southerly posts were closing in on thewild haunts of the Tontos about Chevlon's Fork, not a sign had comefrom this energetic troop commander, not another line from SergeantBrewster or his men, and there were women at Camp Sandy now nearly madwith sleepless dread and watching. "It means, " said Byrne, "that thehostiles are between us and those commands. It means that courierscan't get through, that's all. I'm betting the commands are safeenough. They are too strong to be attacked. " But Byrne was silent asto Blakely; he was dumb as to Wren. He was growing haggard withanxiety and care and inability to assure or comfort. The belatedrations needed by Brewster's party, packed on mules hurried down fromPrescott, were to start at dawn for Sunset Pass under stout infantryguard, and they, too, would probably be swallowed up in themountains. The ranch people down the valley, fearful of raidingApaches, had abandoned their homes, and, driving their stock beforethem, had taken refuge in the emptied corrals of the cavalry. EvenHart, the veteran trader, seemed losing his nerve under the strain, for when such intrepid frontiersmen as Wales Arnold declared itreckless to venture across the Sandy, and little scouting parties weregreeted with long-range shots from hidden foe, it boded ill for alldwellers without the walls of the fort. For the first time in theannals of Camp Sandy, Hart had sandbagged his lower story, and he andhis retainers practically slept upon their arms. 

It was after midnight. Lights still burned dimly at the guard-house, the adjutant's office, and over at the quarters of the commandingofficer, where Byrne and Plume were in consultation. There weresleepless eyes in every house along the line. Truman had not turned inat all. Pondering over his brief talk with the returned commander, hehad gone to the storehouse to expedite the packing of Brewster'srations, and then it occurred to him to drop in a moment at thehospital. In all the dread and excitement of the past two days, PatMullins had been well-nigh forgotten. The attendant greeted him at theentrance. Truman, as he approached, could see him standing at thebroad open doorway, apparently staring out through the starlighttoward the black and distant outlines of the eastward mountains. Mullins at least was sleeping and seemed rapidly recovering, said he, in answer to Truman's muttered query. "Major Plume, " he added, "wasover to see him a while ago, but I told the major Pat was asleep. "Truman listened without comment, but noted none the less and lingered. "You were looking out to the east, " he said. "Seen any lights orfire?"

"Not I, sir. But the sentry there on No. 4 had the corporal out justnow. He's seen or heard something, and they've moved over toward No. 5's post. "

Truman followed. How happened it that when Byrne and Plume had so muchto talk of the latter could find time to come away over to thehospital to inquire for a patient? And there! the call for half-pasttwelve had started at the guard-house and rung out from the stablesand corrals. It was Four's turn to take it up now. Presently he did, but neither promptly nor with confidence. There were new men on therelief just down from Fort Whipple and strange to Sandy and itssurroundings; but surely, said Truman, they should not have beenassigned to Four and Five, the exposed or dangerous posts, so long asthere were other men, old-timers at Sandy, to take these stations. No. 4's "A-all's well" sounded more like a wail of remonstrance at hisloneliness and isolation. It was a new voice, too, for in those daysofficers knew not only the face, but the voice, of every man in thelittle command, and--could Truman be mistaken--he thought he heard asubdued titter from the black shadows of his own quarters, and turnedhis course thither to investigate. Five's shout went up at theinstant, loud, confident, almost boastful, as though in rebuke ofFour's timidity, and, as Truman half expected, there was the corporalof the guard leaning on his rifle, close to the veranda steps, and soabsorbed he never heard the officer approach until the lieutenantsharply hailed:

"Who's that on No. 4?"

"One of 'C' Company's fellers, sir, " answered the watcher, coming tohis senses and attention at the instant. "Just down from Prescott, andthinks he sees ghosts or Indians every minute. Nearly shot one of thehounds a moment ago. "

"You shouldn't put him on that post--"

"I didn't sir, " was the prompt rejoinder. "'Twas the sergeant. He said'twould do him good, but the man's really scared, lieutenant. ThoughtI'd better stay near him a bit. "

Across the black and desolate ruin of Blakely's quarters, and well outon the northward _mesa_, they could dimly discern the form of theunhappy sentry pacing uneasily along his lonely beat, pausing andturning every moment as though fearful of crouching assailant. Evenamong these veteran infantrymen left at Sandy, that northeast cornerhad had an uncanny name ever since the night of Pat Mullins'smysterious stabbing. Many a man would gladly have shunned sentry dutyat that point, but none dare confess to it. Partly as a precaution, partly as protection to his sentries, the temporary commander hadearly in the week sent out a big "fatigue" detail, with knives andhatchets to slice away every clump of sage or greasewood that couldshelter a prowling Apache for a hundred yards out from the line. Butthe man now on No. 4 was palpably nervous and distressed, in spite ofthis fact. Truman watched him a moment in mingled compassion andamusement, and was just turning aside to enter his open doorway whenthe corporal held up a warning hand. 

Through the muffling sand of the roadway in rear of the quarters, atall, dark figure was moving straight and swift toward the post of No. 4, and so far within that of No. 5 as to escape the latter'schallenge. The corporal sprung his rifle to the hollow of his arm andstarted the next instant, sped noiselessly a few yards in pursuit, then abruptly halted. "It's the major, sir, " said he, embarrassed, asTruman joined him again. "Gad, I hope No. 4 won't fire!"

Fire he did not, but his challenge came with a yell. "W-whocomesthere?"--three words as one and that through chatteringteeth. 

"Commanding officer, " they heard Plume clearly answer, then in lowertone, but distinctly rebukeful. "What on earth's the matter, No. 4?You called off very badly. Anything disturbing you out here?"

The sentry's answer was a mumble of mingled confusion and distress. How could he own to his post commander that he was scared? No. 5 nowwas to be seen swiftly coming up the eastward front so as to be withinsupporting or hearing distance--curiosity, not sympathy, impelling;and so there were no less than five men, four of them old and triedsoldiers, all within fifty yards of the angle made by the two sentrybeats, all wide awake, yet not one of their number could later telljust what started it. All on a sudden, down in Sudsville, down amongthe southward quarters of the line, the hounds went rushing forth, barking and baying excitedly, one and all heading for the brink of theeastward _mesa_, yet halting short as though afraid to approach itnearer, and then, darting up and down, barking, sniffing, challengingangrily, they kept up their fierce alarm. Somebody or something wasout there in the darkness, perhaps at the very edge of the bluff, andthe dogs dare go no further. Even when the corporal, followed by No. 5, came running down the post, the hounds hung back, bristling andsavage, yet fearful. Corporal Foote cocked his rifle and wentcrouching forward through the gloom, but the voice of the major washeard:

"Don't go out there, corporal. Call for the guard, " as he hurried into his quarters in search of his revolver. Truman by this time had runfor his own arms and together they reappeared on the post of No. 5, asa sergeant, with half a dozen men, came panting from across theparade, swift running to the scene. 

"No. 4 would have it that there were Indians, or somebody skulkingabout him when I was examining him a moment ago, " said Plumehurriedly. "Shut up, you brutes!" he yelled angrily at the nearesthounds. "Scatter your men forward there, sergeant, and see if we canfind anything. " Other men were coming, too, by this time, and alantern was dancing out from Doty's quarters. Byrne, pyjama-clad andin slippered feet, shuffled out to join the party as the guard, withrifles at ready, bored their way out to the front, the dogs stillsuspiciously sniffing and growling. For a moment or two no explanationoffered. The noise was gradually quieting down. Then from far out tothe right front rose the shout: "Come here with that lantern!" and allhands started at the sound. 

Old Shaughnessy, saddler sergeant, was the first on the spot with alight. All Sudsville seemed up and astir. Some of the women, even, hadbegun to show at the narrow doorways. Corporal Foote and two of theguard were bending over some object huddled in the sand. Together theyturned it over and tugged it into semblance of human shape, for thething had been shrouded in what proved to be a ragged cavalry blanket. Senseless, yet feebly breathing and moaning, half-clad in tatteredskirt and a coarsely made _camisa_ such as was worn by peon women ofthe humblest class, with blood-stained bandages concealing much of theface and head, a young Indian woman was lifted toward the light. Asoldier started on the run for Dr. Graham; another to the laundresses'homes for water. Others, still, with the lanterns now coming flittingdown the low bluff, began searching through the sands for furthersign, and found it within the minute--sign of a shod horse and ofmoccasined feet, --moccasins not of Tonto, but of Yuma make, saidByrne, after a moment's survey. 

Rough, yet tender, hands bore the poor creature to the nearestshelter--Shaughnessy's quarters. Keen, eager eyes and bending formsfollowed hoof and foot prints to the ford. Two Indians, evidently, hadlately issued, dripping, from the stream; one leading an eager horse, for it had been dancing sidewise as they neared the post, the other, probably sustaining the helpless burden on its back. Two Indians hadthen re-entered the swift waters, almost at the point of emergence, one leading a reluctant, resisting animal, for it had struggled andplunged and set its fore feet against the effort. The other Indian hadprobably mounted as they neared the brink. Already they must be a gooddistance away on the other side, rendering pursuit probably useless. Already the explanation of their coming was apparent. The woman hadbeen hurt or wounded when far from her tribe, and the Indians with herwere those who had learned the white man's ways, knew that he warrednot on women and would give this stricken creature care and comfort, food and raiment and relieve them of all such trouble. It was easy toaccount for their bringing her to Sandy and dropping her at the whiteman's door, but how came they by a shod horse that knew the spot andstrove to break from them at the stables--strove hard against againbeing driven away? Mrs. Shaughnessy, volubly haranguing all withinhearing as the searchers returned from the ford, was telling how shewas lying awake, worrin' about Norah and Pat Mullins and the boys thathad gone afield (owing her six weeks' wash) when she heard a dulltrampin' like and what sounded like horses' stifled squeal (doubtlessthe leading Indian had gripped the nostrils to prevent the eagerneigh), and then, said she, all the dogs roused up and rushed out, howling. 

And then came a cry from within the humble doorway, where mercifulhands were ministering to the suffering savage, and Plume started atthe sound and glared at Byrne, and men stood hushed and startled andamazed, for the voice was that of Norah and the words were strangeindeed:

"Fur the love of hivin, look what she had in her girdle! Shure it'sLeese's own scarf, I tell ye--the Frenchwoman at the major's!"

And Byrne thought it high time to enter and take possession. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A STRANGER GOING

At the first faint flush of dawn the little train of pack mules, withthe rations for the beleaguered command at Sunset Pass, was started onits stony path. Once out of the valley of the Beaver it must clamberover range after range and stumble through deep and tortuous cañons. Aroad there was--the old trail by Snow Lake, thence through the famousPass and the Sunset crossing of the Colorado Chiquito to old FortWingate. It wormed its way out of the valley of the broader streamsome miles further to the north and in face of the Red Rock country tothe northeast, but it had not been traveled in safety for a year. BothByrne and Plume believed it beset with peril, watched from ambush byinvisible foes who could be relied upon to lurk in hiding until thetrain was within easy range, then, with sudden volley, to pick off theofficers and prominent sergeants and, in the inevitable confusion, aided by their goatlike agility, to make good their escape. Thirtysturdy soldiers of the infantry under a veteran captain marched asescort, with Plume's orders to push through to the relief of SergeantBrewster's command, and to send back Indian runners with full accountof the situation. The relief of Wren's company accomplished, the nextthing was to be a search for Wren himself, then a determined effort tofind Blakely, and all the time to keep a lookout for Sanders's troopthat must be somewhere north of Chevlon's Fork, as well as for the twoor three little columns that should be breaking their way through theunblazed wilderness, under the personal direction of the generalhimself. Captain Stout and his party were out of sight up the Beaverbefore the red eye of the morning came peering over the jagged heightsto the east, and looking in upon a garrison whose eyes were equallyred and bleary through lack of sleep--a garrison worn and haggardthrough anxiety and distress gravely augmented by the events of thenight. All Sandy had been up and astir within five minutes after NorahShaughnessy's startling cry, and all Sandy asked with bated breath thesame question: How on earth happened it that this wounded waif of theApaches, this unknown Indian girl, dropped senseless at their doorwayin the dead hours of the night, should have in her possession the veryscarf worn by Mrs. Plume's nurse-companion, the Frenchwoman Elise, asshe came forth with her mistress to drive away from Sandy, as was herhope, forever. 

Prominent among those who had hastened down to Sudsville, after thenews of this discovery had gone buzzing through the line of officers'quarters, was Janet Wren. Kate Sanders was staying with Angela, forthe girls seemed to find comfort in each other's presence and society. Both had roused at sound of the clamor and were up and half dressedwhen a passing hospital attendant hurriedly shouted to Miss Wren thetidings. The girls, too, would have gone, but Aunt Janet sternly badethem remain indoors. She would investigate, she said, and bring themall information. 

Dozens of the men were still hovering about old Shaughnessy's quartersas the tall, gaunt form of the captain's sister came stalking throughthe crowd, making straight for the doorway. The two senior officers, Byrne and Plume, were, in low tones, interrogating Norah. Plume hadbeen shown the scarf and promptly seconded Norah. He knew it atonce--knew that, as Elise came forth that dismal morning and passedunder the light in the hall, she had this very scarf round herthroat--this that had been found upon the person of a wounded andsenseless girl. He remembered now that as the sun climbed higher andthe air grew warmer the day of their swift flight to Prescott, Elisehad thrown open her traveling sack, and he noticed that the scarf hadbeen discarded. He did not see it anywhere about the Concord, but thatproved nothing. She might easily have slipped it into her bag or underthe cushions of the seat. Both he and Byrne, therefore, watched withno little interest when, after a brief glance at the feverish andwounded Indian girl, moaning in the cot in Mrs. Shaughnessy's room, Miss Wren returned to the open air, bearing the scarf with her. Onemoment she studied it, under the dull gleam of the lantern of thesergeant of the guard, and then slowly spoke:

"Gentlemen, I have seen this worn by Elise and I believe I know howit came to find its way back here--and it does not brighten thesituation. From our piazza, the morning of Major Plume's start forPrescott, I could plainly see Downs hanging about the wagon. Itstarted suddenly, as perhaps you remember, and as it rolled awaysomething went fluttering to the ground behind. Everybody was lookingafter the Concord at the moment--everybody but Downs, who quicklystooped, picked up the thing, and turned hurriedly away. I believe hehad this scarf when he deserted and that he has fallen into the handsof the Apaches. "

Byrne looked at the post commander without speaking. The color hadmounted one moment to the major's face, then left him pallid asbefore. The hunted, haggard, weary look about his eyes had deepened. That was all. The longer he lived, the longer he served about thiswoebegone spot in mid Arizona, the more he realized the influence forevil that handmaid of Shaitan seemed to exert over his vain, shallow, yet beautiful and beloved wife. Against it he had wrought and pleadedin vain. Elise had been with them since her babyhood, was his wife'salmost indignant reply. Elise had been faithful to her--devoted to herall her life. Elise was indispensable; the only being that kept herfrom going mad with home-sickness and misery in that God-forsakenclime. Sobs and tears wound up each interview and, like many astronger man, Plume had succumbed. It might, indeed, be cruel to robher of Elise, the last living link that bound her to the blessedmemories of her childhood, and he only mildly strove to point out toher how oddly, yet persistently, her good name had suffered throughthe words and deeds of this flighty, melodramatic Frenchwoman. Something of her baleful influence he had seen and suspected beforeever they came to their exile, but here at Sandy, with full force herealized the extent of her machinations. Clarice was not the woman togo prowling about the quarters in the dead hours of the night, nomatter how nervous and sleepless at home. Clarice was not the woman tobe having back-door conferences with the servants of other households, much less the "striker" of an officer with whose name hers, as amaiden, had once been linked. He recalled with a shudder the events ofthe night that sent the soldier Mullins to hospital, robbed of hiswits, if not of his life. He recalled with dread the reluctantadmissions of the doctor and of Captain Wren. Sleep-walking, indeed!Clarice never elsewhere at any time had shown somnambulistic symptoms. It was Elise beyond doubt who had lured her forth for some purpose hecould neither foil nor fathom. It was Elise who kept up thisdiscreditable and mysterious commerce with Downs, --something that hadculminated in the burning of Blakely's home, with who knows whatevidence, --something that had terminated only with Downs's maddesertion and probable death. All this and more went flashing throughhis mind as Miss Wren finished her brief and significant story, and itdawned upon him that, whatever it might be to others, the death ofDowns--to him, and to her whom he loved and whose honor hecherished--was anything but a calamity, a thing to mourn. Toogenerous to say the words, he yet turned with lightened heart and metByrne's searching eyes, then those of Miss Wren now fixed upon himwith austere challenge, as though she would say the flight and fate ofthis friendless soldier were crimes to be laid only at his door. 

Byrne saw the instant distress in his comrade's face, and, glancingfrom him to her, almost in the same instant saw the inciting cause. Byrne had one article of faith if he lacked the needful thirty-nine. Women had no place in official affairs, no right to meddle in officialmatters, and what he said on the spur of his rising resentment wasintended for her, though spoken to him. "So Downs skipped eastward, did he, and the Apaches got him! Well, Plume, that saves us ahanging. " And Miss Wren turned away in wrath unspeakable. 

That Downs had "skipped eastward" received further confirmation withthe coming day, when Wales Arnold rode into the fort from a personallyconducted scout up the Beaver. Riding out with Captain Stout's party, he had paid a brief visit to his, for the time, abandoned ranch, andwas surprised to find there, unmolested, the two persons and all theproperty he had left the day he hurried wife and household to theshelter of the garrison. The two persons were half-breed José and hisHualpai squaw. They had been with the Arnolds five long years, wereknown to all the Apaches, and had ever been in highest favor with thembecause of the liberality with which they dispensed the _largesse_ oftheir employer. Never went an Indian empty-stomached from their door. All the stock Wales had time to gather he had driven in to Sandy. Allthat was left José had found and corraled. Just one quadruped wasmissing--Arnold's old mustang saddler, Dobbin. José said he had beengone from the first and with him an old bridle and saddle. No Indiantook him, said he. It was a soldier. He had found "government boottracks" in the sand. Then Downs and Dobbin had gone together, but onlyDobbin might they ever look to see again. 

It had been arranged between Byrne and Captain Stout that the littlerelief column should rest in a deep cañon beyond the springs fromwhich the Beaver took its source, and, later in the afternoon, push onagain on the long, stony climb toward the plateau of the upperMogollon. There stood, about twenty-five miles out from the post on abee line to the northeast, a sharp, rocky peak just high enough abovethe fringing pines and cedars to be distinctly visible by day from thecrest of the nearest foothills west of the flagstaff. Along the sunsetface of this gleaming _picacho_ there was a shelf or ledge that hadoften been used by the Apaches for signaling purposes; the renegadescommunicating with their kindred about the agency up the valley. Invisible from the level of Camp Sandy, these fires by night, or smokeand flashes by day, reached only those for whom they wereintended--the Apaches at the reservation; but Stout, who had known theneighborhood since '65, had suggested that lookouts equipped withbinoculars be placed on the high ground back of the post. Inferior tothe savage in the craft, we had no code of smoke, fire, or, at thattime, even sun-flash signal, but it was arranged that one blaze was tomean "Unmolested thus far. " Two blazes, a few yards apart, would mean"Important news by runner. " In the latter event Plume was to push outforty or fifty men in dispersed order to meet and protect the runnerin case he should be followed, or possibly headed off, by hostiletribesmen. Only six Indian allies had gone with Stout and he had eyedthem with marked suspicion and disfavor. They, too, were Apache Yumas. The day wore on slowly, somberly. All sound of life, melody, ormerriment had died out at Camp Sandy. Even the hounds seemed to feelthat a cloud of disaster hung over the garrison. Only at rareintervals some feminine shape flitted along the line of desertedverandas--some woman on a mission of mercy to some mourning, sore-troubled sister among the scattered households. For several hoursbefore high noon the wires from Prescott had been hot with demand fornews, and with messages from Byrne or Plume to departmentheadquarters. At meridian, however, there came a lull, and at 2 P. M. A break. Somewhere to the west the line was snapped and down. At 2. 15two linesmen galloped forth to find and repair damages, half a dozen"doughboys" on a buckboard going as guard. Otherwise, all day long, nosoldier left the post, and when darkness settled down, the anxiousoperator, seated at his keyboard, was still unable to wake the spiritof the gleaming copper thread that spanned the westward wilderness. 

All Sandy was wakeful, out on the broad parade, or the officers'verandas, and gazing as one man or woman at the bold, black upheaval amile behind the post, at whose summit twinkled a tiny star, a singlelantern, telling of the vigil of Plume's watchers. If Stout made evenfair time he should have reached the _picacho_ at dusk, and now it wasnearly nine and not a glimmer of fire had been seen at the appointedrendezvous. Nine passed and 9. 15, and at 9. 30 the fifes and drums ofthe Eighth turned out and began the long, weird complaint of thetattoo. Nobody wished to go to bed. Why not sound reveille and letthem sit up all night, if they chose? It was far better than tossingsleepless through the long hours to the dawn. It was nearly time for"taps"--lights out--when a yell went up from the parade and all Sandystarted to its feet. All on a sudden the spark at the lookout bluffbegan violently to dance, and a dozen men tore out of garrison, eagerto hear the news. They were met halfway by a sprinting corporal, whomthey halted with eager demand for his news. "_Two_ blazes!" he panted, "two! I must get in to the major at once!" Five minutes more theAssembly, not Taps, was sounding. Plume was sending forth his fiftyrescuers, and with them, impatient for tidings from the far front, went Byrne, the major himself following as soon as he could change toriding dress. The last seen of the little command was the glinting ofthe starlight on the gun barrels as they forded the rippling streamand took the trail up the narrow, winding valley of the Beaver. 

It was then a little after ten o'clock. The wire to Prescott was stillunresponsive. Nothing had been heard from the linesmen and theirescort, indicating that the break was probably far over as the AguaFria. Not a sign, except Stout's signal blazes at the _picacho_, hadbeen gathered from the front. Camp Sandy was cut off from the world, and the actual garrison left to guard the post and protect the women, children and the sick as eleven o'clock drew nigh, was exactly fortymen of the fighting force. It was believed that Stout's couriers wouldmake the homeward run, very nearly, by the route the pack-train tookthroughout the day, and if they succeeded in evading hostile scouts orparties, would soon appear about some of the breaks of the upperBeaver. Thither, therefore, with all possible speed Plume had directedhis men, promising Mrs. Sanders, as he rode away, that the moment arunner was encountered he would send a light rider at the gallop, onhis own good horse--that not a moment should be lost in bearing themthe news. 

But midnight came without a sign. Long before that hour, as though bycommon impulse, almost all the women of the garrison had gatheredabout Truman's quarters, now the northernmost of the row and in plainview of the confluence of the Sandy and the Beaver. Dr. Graham, whohad been swinging to and fro between the limits of the Shaughnessys'and the hospital, stopped to speak with them a moment and gently drewAngela to one side. His grave and rugged face was sweet in itstenderness as he looked down into her brimming eyes. "Can you not becontent at home, my child?" he murmured. "You seem like one of my ownbairns, Angela, now that your brave father is afield, and I want tohave his bonnie daughter looking her best against the home-coming. Surely Aunt Janet will bring you the news the moment any comes, andI'll bid Kate Sanders bide with you!"

No, she would not--she could not go home. Like every other soul in allCamp Sandy she seemed to long to be just there. Some few had even goneout further, beyond the sentries, to the point of the low bluff, andthere, chatting only in whispers, huddled together, listening inanxiety inexpressible for the muffled sound of galloping hoofs on softand sandy shore. No, she _dare_ not, for within the four walls of thatlittle white room what dreams and visions had the girl not seen? and, wakening shuddering, had clung to faithful Kate and sobbed her heartout in those clasping, tender, loyal arms. No beauty, indeed, wasKate, as even her fond mother ruefully admitted, but there was that inher great, gentle, unselfish heart that made her beloved by one andall. Yet Kate had pleaded with Angela in vain. Some strange, forcefulmood had seized the girl and steeled and strengthened her against evenJanet Wren's authority. She would not leave the little band ofwatchers. She was there when, toward half-past twelve, at last themessage came. Plume's own horse came tearing through the flood, andpanting, reeking, trembling into their midst, and his rider, littleFifer Lanigan, of Company "C, " sprang from saddle and thrust hisdispatch into Truman's outstretched hand. 

With women and children crowding about him, and men running to thescene from every side, by the light of a lantern held in a soldier'sshaking hand, he read aloud the contents:

 "BIVOUAC AT PICACHO, 9 P. M. 

 "C. O. CAMP SANDY:

 "Reached this point after hard march, but no active opposition, at 8 P. M. First party sent to build fire on ledge driven in by hostiles. Corporal Welch shot through left side--serious. Threw out skirmishers and drove them off after some firing, and about 9. 20 came suddenly upon Indian boy crouching among rocks, who held up folded paper which I have read and forward herewith. We shall, of course, turn toward Snow Lake, taking boy as guide. March at 3 A. M. Will do everything possible to reach Wren on time. 

 (Signed) "STOUT, Commanding. "

Within was another slip, grimy and with dark stains. And Truman'svoice well-nigh failed him as he read:

 "November --th. 

 "C. O. CAMP SANDY:

 "Through a friendly Apache who was with me at the reservation I learned that Captain Wren was lying wounded, cut off from his troop and with only four of his men, in a cañon southwest of Snow Lake. With Indian for guide we succeeded reaching him second night, but are now surrounded, nearly out of ammunition and rations. Three more of our party are wounded and one, Trooper Kent, killed. If not rushed can hold out perhaps three days more, but Wren sorely needs surgical aid. 

 (Signed) "BLAKELY. "

That was all. The Bugologist with his one orderly, and apparentlywithout the Apache Yuma scouts, had gone straightway to the rescue ofWren. Now all were cut off and surrounded by a wily foe that countedon, sooner or later, overcoming and annihilating them, and even by thetime the Indian runner slipped out (some faithful spirit won byBlakely's kindness and humanity when acting agent), the defense hadbeen reduced just one-half. Thank God that Stout with his supplies andstalwart followers was not more than two days' march away, and wasgoing straightway to the rescue!

It was nearly two when Plume and his half-hundred came drifting backto the garrison, and even then some few of the watchers were along thebluff. Janet Wren, having at last seen pale-faced, silent Angela toher room and bed, with Kate Sanders on guard, had again gone forth toextract such further information as Major Plume might have. Even atthat hour men were at work in the corrals, fitting saddles to half adozen spare horses, --about all that were left at the post, --and MissWren learned that Colonel Byrne, with an orderly or two, had remainedat Arnold's ranch, --that Arnold himself, with six horsemen from thepost, was to set forth at four, join the colonel at dawn, and togetherall were to push forward on the trail of Stout's command, hoping toovertake them by nightfall. She whispered this to sleepless Kate onher return to the house, for Angela, exhausted with grief and longsuspense, had fallen, apparently, into deep and dreamless slumber. 

But the end of that eventful night was not yet. Arnold and hissextette slipped away soon after four o'clock, and about 4. 50 therecame a banging at the major's door. It was the telegraph operator. Thewire was patched at last, and the first message was to the effect thatthe guard had been fired on in Cherry Creek cañon--that PrivateForrest was sorely wounded and lying at Dick's deserted ranch, withtwo of their number to care for him. Could they possibly send asurgeon at once?

There was no one to go but Graham. His patients at the post were doingfairly well, but there wasn't a horse for him to ride. "No matter, "said he, "I'll borrow Punch. He's needing exercise these days. " SoPunch was ordered man-saddled and brought forthwith. The orderly cameback in ten minutes. "Punch aint there, sir, " said he. "He's been goneover half an hour. "

"Gone? Gone where? Gone how?" asked Graham in amaze. 

"Gone with Miss Angela, sir. She saddled him herself and rode away nottwenty minutes after Arnold's party left. The sentries say shefollowed up the Beaver. "

CHAPTER XIX

BESIEGED

Deep down in a ragged cleft of the desert, with shelving rock andgiant bowlder on every side, without a sign of leaf, or sprig ofgrass, or tendril of tiny creeping plant, a little party of haggard, hunted men lay in hiding and in the silence of exhaustion and despond, awaiting the inevitable. Bulging outward overhead, like the counter ofsome huge battleship, a great mass of solid granite heaved unbrokenabove them, forming a recess or cave, in which they were secureagainst arrow, shot, or stone from the crest of the lofty, almostvertical walls of the vast and gloomy cañon. Well back under thisnatural shelter, basined in the hollowed rock, a blessed pool of fairwater lay unwrinkled by even a flutter of breeze. Relic of the earlyspringtime and the melting snows, it had been caught and imprisonedhere after the gradually failing stream had trickled itself intonothingness. One essential, one comfort then had not been denied thebeleaguered few, but it was about the only one. Water for drink, forfevered wounds and burning throats, they had in abundance; but thelast "hardtack" had been shared, the last scrap of bacon long sincedevoured. Of the once-abundant rations only coffee grains were left. Of the cartridge-crammed "thimble belts, " with which they had enteredthe cañon and the Apache trap, only three contained so much as asingle copper cylinder, stopped by its forceful lead. These threebelonged to troopers, two of whom, at least, would never have use forthem again. One of these, poor Jerry Kent, lay buried beneath thelittle cairn of rocks in still another cavelike recess a dozen yardsaway, hidden there by night, when prowling Apaches could not see thesorrowing burial party and crush them with bowlders heaved over theprecipice above, or shoot them down with whistling lead orsteel-tipped arrow from some safe covert in the rocky walls. 

Cut off from their comrades while scouting a side ravine, Captain Wrenand his quartette of troopers had made stiff and valiant fight againstsuch of the Indians as permitted hand or head to show from behind therocks. They had felt confident that Sergeant Brewster and the mainbody would speedily miss them, or hear the sound of firing and turnback _au secours_, but sounds are queerly carried in such a maze ofdeep and tortuous clefts as seamed the surface in every conceivabledirection through the wild basin of the Colorado. Brewster's rearmostfiles declared long after that never the faintest whisper of affrayhad reached their ears, already half deadened by fatigue and theceaseless crash of iron-shod hoofs on shingly rock. As for Brewsterhimself, he was able to establish that Wren's own orders were to "pushahead" and try to make Sunset Pass by nightfall, while the captain, with such horses as seemed freshest, scouted right and left whereverpossible. The last seen of Jerry Kent, it later transpired, was whenhe came riding after them to say the captain had gone into the mouthof the gorge opening to the west, and the last message borne from thecommander to the troop came through Jerry Kent to Sergeant Dusold, whobrought up the rear. They had passed the mouths of half a dozenravines within the hour, some on one side, some on the other, andDusold "passed the word" by sending Corporal Slater clattering up thecañon, skirting the long drawn-out column of files until, far in thelead, he could overtake the senior sergeant and deliver his message. Later, when Brewster rode back with all but the little guard left overhis few broken-down men and mounts in Sunset Pass, Dusold couldconfidently locate in his own mind the exact spot where Kent overtookhim; but Dusold was a drill-book dragoon of the Prussian school, consummately at home on review or parade, but all at sea, so to speak, in the mountains. They never found a trace of their loved leader. Theclefts they scouted were all on the wrong side. 

And so it happened that relief came not, that one after another thefive horses fell, pierced with missiles or crushed and stunned byrocks crashing down from above, that Kent himself was shot through thebrain, and Wren skewered through the arm by a Tonto shaft, and pluggedwith a round rifle ball in the shoulder. Sergeant Carmody bound up hiscaptain's wound as best he could, and by rare good luck, keeping up abold front, and answering every shot, they fought their way to thislittle refuge in the rocks, and there, behind improvised barricades orbowlders, "stood off" their savage foe, hoping rescue might soon reachthem. 

But Wren was nearly wild from wounds and fever when the third day cameand no sign of the troop. Another man had been hit and stung, andthough not seriously wounded, like a burnt child, he now shunned thefire and became, perforce, an ineffective. Their scanty store ofrations was gone entirely. Sergeant Carmody and his alternate watcherswere worn out from lack of sleep when, in the darkness of midnight, alow hail in their own tongue came softly through the deadsilence, --the voice of Lieutenant Blakely cautioning, "Don't fire, Wren. It's the Bugologist, " and in another moment he and his orderlyafoot, in worn Apache moccasins, but equipped with crammed haversacksand ammunition belts, were being welcomed by the besieged. There waslittle of the emotional and nothing of the melodramatic about it. Itwas, if anything, rather commonplace. Wren was flighty and disposed togive orders for an immediate attack in force on the enemy's works, towhich the sergeant, his lips trembling just a bit, responded withprompt salute: "Very good, sir, just as quick as the men can finishsupper. Loot'nent Blakely's compliments, sir, and he'll be ready inten minutes, " for Blakely and his man, seeing instantly the conditionof things, had freshened the little fire and begun unloading supplies. Solalay, their Indian guide, after piloting them through the woodlandsouthwest of Snow Lake, had pointed out the cañon, bidden them followit and, partly in the sign language, partly in Spanish, partly in thefew Apache terms that Blakely had learned during his agency days, managed to make them understand that Wren was to be found some fivemiles further on, and that most of the besieging Tontos were on theheights above or in the cañon below. Few would be encountered, if any, on the up-stream side. Then, promising to take the horses and themules to Camp Sandy, he had left them. He dared go no farther towardthe warring Apaches. They would suspect and butcher him without mercy. 

But Solalay had not gone without promise of further aid. Natzie'syounger brother, Alchisay, had recently come to him with a messagefrom her, and should be coming with another. Solalay thought he couldfind the boy and send him to them to be used as a courier. Blakely'sopportune coming had cheered not a little the flagging defense, but, not until forty-eight hours thereafter, by which time their conditionhad become almost desperate and the foe almost daring, did the lithe, big-eyed, swarthy little Apache reach them. Blakely knew himinstantly, wrote his dispatch and bade the boy go with all speed, withthe result we know. "Three more of our party are wounded, " he hadwritten, but had not chosen to say that one of them was himself. 

A solemn sight was this that met the eyes of the Bugologist, asCarmody roused him from a fitful sleep, with the murmured words, "Almost light, sir. They'll be on us soon as they can see. " Deep inunder the overhang and close to the pool lay one poor fellow whoseswift, gasping breath told all too surely that the Indian bullet hadfound fatal billet in his wasting form. It was Chalmers, a youngSoutherner, driven by poverty at home and prospect of adventure abroadto seek service in the cavalry. It was practically his first campaign, and in all human probability his last. Consciousness had left himhours ago, and his vagrant spirit was fast loosing every earthly bond, and already, in fierce dreamings, at war with unseen and savage foeover their happy hunting grounds in the great Beyond. Near him, equally sheltered, yet further toward the dim and pallid light, layWren, his strong Scotch features pinched and drawn with pain and lossof blood and lack of food. Fever there was little left, there was solittle left for it to live upon. Weak and helpless as a child in armshe lay, inert and silent. There was nothing he could do. Never aquarter hour had passed since he had been forced to lie there thatsome one of his devoted men had not bathed his forehead and cooled hisburning wounds with abundant flow of blessed water. Twice since hisgradual return to consciousness had he asked for Blakely, and hadbidden him sit and tell him of Sandy, asking for tidings of Angela, and faltering painfully as he bethought himself of the lastinstructions he had given. How could Blakely be supposed to know aughtof her or of the household bidden to treat him practically as astranger? Now, he thought it grand that the Bugologist had thrown allconsideration of peril to the wind and had hastened to their aid toshare their desperate fortunes. But Wren knew not how to tell of it. He took courage and hope when Blakely spoke of Solalay's loyalty, ofyoung Alchisay's daring visit and his present mission. Apaches of hisband had been known to traverse sixty miles a day over favorableground, and Alchisay, even through such a labyrinth of rock, ravine, and precipice, should not make less than thirty. Within forty-eighthours of his start the boy ought to reach the Sandy valley, and surelyno moment would then be lost in sending troops to find and rescuethem. But four days and nights, said Blakely to himself, was the leasttime in which they could reasonably hope for help, and now only thethird night had gone, --gone with their supplies of every kind. A fewhours more and the sun would be blazing in upon even the dank depthsof the cañon for his midday stare. A few minutes more and the Apaches, too, would be up and blazing on their own account. "Keep well undershelter, " were Blakely's murmured orders to the few men, even as thefirst, faint breath of the dawn came floating from the broader reachesfar down the rocky gorge. 

In front of their cavelike refuge, just under the shelving massoverhead, heaped in a regular semicircle, a rude parapet of rocks gaveshelter to the troopers guarding the approaches. Little loopholes hadbeen left, three looking down and two northward up the dark and tortuousrift. In each of these a loaded carbine lay in readiness. So well chosenwas the spot that for one hundred yards southeastward--down stream--thenarrow gorge was commanded by the fire of the defense, while above, fornearly eighty, from wall to wall, the approach was similarly swept. Norush was therefore possible on part of the Apaches without everyprobability of their losing two or three of the foremost. The Apachelacks the magnificent daring of the Sioux or Cheyenne. He is a fighterfrom ambush; he risks nothing for glory's sake; he is a monarch in craftand guile, but no hero in open battle. For nearly a week now, day afterday, the position of the defenders had been made almost terrible by thefierce bombardment to which it had been subjected, of huge stones orbowlders sent thundering down the almost precipitous walls, thenbounding from ledge to ledge, or glancing from solid, sloping facediving, finally, with fearful crash into the rocky bed at the bottom, sending a shower of fragments hurtling in every direction, oftdislodging some section of parapet, yet never reaching the depths of thecave. Add to this nerve-racking siege work the instant, spiteful flashof barbed arrow or zip and crack of bullet when hat or hand of one ofthe defenders was for a second exposed, and it is not difficult to fancythe wear and tear on even the stoutest heart in the depleted littleband. 

And still they set their watch and steeled their nerves, and in doggedsilence took their station as the pallid light grew roseate on thecliffs above them. And with dull and wearied, yet wary, eyes, eachsoldier scanned every projecting rock or point that could give shelterto lurking foe, and all the time the brown muzzles of the carbineswere trained low along the stream bed. No shot could now be thrownaway at frowsy turban or flaunting rag along the cliffs. The rush wasthe one thing they had to dread and drive back. It was God's mercy theApache dared not charge in the dark. 

[Illustration: THE FIGHT IN THE CAÑON]

Lighter grew the deep gorge and lighter still, and soon in gloriousradiance the morning sunshine blazed on the lofty battlements faroverhead, and every moment the black shadow on the westward wall, visible to the defense long rifle-shot southeastward, gave gradual waybefore the rising day god, and from the broader open reaches beyond thehuge granite shoulder, around which wound the cañon, and from thesun-kissed heights, a blessed warmth stole softly in, gratefulinexpressibly to their chilled and stiffened limbs. And still, despitethe growing hours, neither shot nor sign came from the accustomed hauntsof the surrounding foe. Six o'clock was marked by Blakely's watch. Sixo'clock and seven, and the low moan from the lips of poor youngChalmers, or the rattle of some pebble dislodged by the foot ofcrouching guardian, or some murmured word from man to man, --some word ofwonderment at the unlooked for lull in Apache siege operations, --was theonly sound to break the almost deathlike silence of the morning. Therewas one other, far up among the stunted, shriveled pines and cedars thatjutted from the opposite heights. They could hear at intervals a weird, mournful note, a single whistling call in dismal minor, but it broughtno new significance. Every day of their undesired and enforced sojourn, every hour of the interminable day, that raven-like, hermit bird of theSierras had piped his unmelodious signal to some distant featheredfellow, and sent a chill to the heart of more than one war-triedsoldier. There was never a man in Arizona wilds that did not hate thesound of it. And yet, as eight o'clock was noted and still no sight orsound of assailant came, Sergeant Carmody turned a wearied, aching eyefrom his loophole and muttered to the officer crouching close besidehim: "I could wring the neck of the lot of those infernal cat crows, sir, but I'll thank God if we hear no worse sound this day. "

Blakely rose to his feet and wearily leaned upon the breastworks, peering cautiously over. Yesterday the sight of a scouting hat wouldhave brought instant whiz of arrow, but not a missile saluted him now. One arm, his left, was rudely bandaged and held in a sling, a rifleball from up the cliff, glancing from the inner face of the parapet, had torn savagely through muscle and sinew, but mercifully scoredneither artery nor bone. An arrow, whizzing blindly through asouthward loophole, had grazed his cheek, ripping a straight red seamfar back as the lobe of the ear, which had been badly torn. Blakelyhad little the look of a squire of dames as, thus maimed and scarredand swathed in blood-stained cotton, he peered down the deep andshadowy cleft and searched with eyes keen, if yet unskilled, everyvisible section of the opposite wall. What could their silence mean?Had they found other game, pitifully small in numbers as thesebesieged, and gone to butcher them, knowing well that, hampered bytheir wounded, these, their earlier victims, could not hope to escape?Had they got warning of the approach of some strong force ofsoldiery--Brewster scouting in search of them, or may be Sandershimself? Had they slipped away, therefore, and could the besieged dareto creep forth and shout, signal, or even fire away two or three ofthese last precious cartridges in hopes of catching the ear ofsearching comrades?

Wren, exhausted, had apparently dropped into a fitful doze. His eyeswere shut, his lips were parted, his long, lean fingers twitched attimes as a tremor seemed to shoot through his entire frame. Anotherday like the last or at worst like this, without food or nourishment, and even such rugged strength as had been his would be taxed to theutmost. There might be no to-morrow for the sturdy soldier who had sogallantly served his adopted country, his chosen flag. As forChalmers, the summons was already come. Far from home and those whomost loved and would sorely grieve for him, the brave lad was dying. Carmody, kneeling by his side, but the moment before had looked upmutely in his young commander's face, and his swimming, sorrowing eyeshad told the story. 

Nine o'clock had come without a symptom of alarm or enemy fromwithout, yet death had invaded the lonely refuge in the rocks, claiming one victim as his tribute for the day and setting his sealupon still another, the prospective sacrifice for the dismal morrow, and Blakely could stand the awful strain no longer. 

"Sergeant, " said he, "I must know what this means. We must have helpfor the captain before this sun goes down, or he may be gone before weknow it. "

And Carmody looked him in the face and answered: "I am strong yet andunhurt. Let me make the try, sir. Some of our fellows must be scoutingnear us, or these beggars wouldn't have quit. I can find the boys, ifanyone can. "

Blakely turned and gazed one moment into the deep and dark recesswhere lay his wounded and the dying. The morning wind had freshened abit, and a low, murmurous song, nature's Æolian, came softly from theswaying pine and stunted oak and juniper far on high. The whiff thatswept to their nostrils from the lower depths of the cañon told itsown grewsome tale. There, scattered along the stream bed, lay thefestering remains of their four-footed comrades, first victims of theambuscade. Death lurked about their refuge then on every side, and waseven invading their little fortress. Was this to be the end, afterall? Was there neither help nor hope from any source?

Turning once again, a murmured prayer upon his lips, Blakely startedat sight of Carmody. With one hand uplifted, as though to cautionsilence, the other concaved at his ear, the sergeant was bendingeagerly forward, his eyes dilating, his frame fairly quivering. Then, on a sudden, up he sprang and swung his hat about his head. "Firing, sir! Firing, sure!" he cried. Another second, and with a gasp and moanhe sank to earth transfixed; a barbed arrow, whizzing from unseenspace, had pierced him through and through. 

CHAPTER XX

WHERE IS ANGELA?

For a moment as they drew under shelter the stricken form of thesoldier, there was nothing the defense could do but dodge. Then, leaving him at the edge of the pool, and kicking before them the onecowed and cowering shirker of the little band, Blakely and the singletrooper still unhit, crept back to the rocky parapet, secured acarbine each and knelt, staring up the opposite wall in search of thefoe. And not a sign of Apache could they see. 

Yet the very slant of the arrow as it pierced the young soldier, thenew angle at which the bullets bounded from the stony crest, thelower, flatter flight of the barbed missiles that struck fire from theflinty rampart, all told the same story. The Indians during the hoursof darkness, even while dreading to charge, had managed to crawl, snake-like, to lower levels along the cliff and to creep closer up thestream bed, and with stealthy, noiseless hands to rear little sheltersof stone, behind which they were now crouching invisible and secure. With the illimitable patience of their savage training they had thenwaited, minute after minute, hour after hour, until, lulled at lastinto partial belief that their deadly foe had slipped away, some ofthe defenders should be emboldened to venture into view, and then onewell-aimed volley at the signal from the leader's rifle, and thevengeful shafts of those who had as yet only the native weapon, wouldfall like lightning stroke upon the rash ones, and that would end it. Catlike they had crouched and watched since early dawn. Catlike theyhad played the old game of apparent weariness of the sport, offorgetfulness of their prey and tricked their guileless victims intohope and self-exposure, then swooped again, and the gallant lad whoselast offer and effort had been to set forth in desperate hope ofbringing relief to the suffering, had paid for his valor with hislife. One arrow at least had gone swift and true, one shaft that, launched, perhaps, two seconds too soon for entire success, had barelyanticipated the leader's signal and spoiled the scheme of bagging allthe game. Blakely's dive to save his fallen comrade had just saved hisown head, for rock chips and spattering lead flew on every side, scratching, but not seriously wounding him. 

And then, when they "thought on vengeance" and the three brown muzzlesswept the opposite wall, there followed a moment of utter silence, broken only by the faint gasping of the dying man. "Creep back toCarmody, you, " muttered Blakely to the trembling lad beside him. "Youare of no account here unless they try to charge. Give him water, quick. " Then to Stern, his one unhurt man, "You heard what he saidabout distant firing. Did you hear it?"

"Not I, sir, but I believe _they_ did--an' be damned to them!" AndStern's eyes never left the opposite cliff, though his ears werestrained to catch the faintest sound from the lower cañon. It wasthere they last had seen the troop. It was from that direction helpshould come. "Watch them, but don't waste a shot, man. I must speak toCarmody, " said Blakely, under his breath, as he backed on hands andknees, a painful process when one is sore wounded. Trembling, whimpering like whipped child, the poor, spiritless lad sent to theaid of the stricken and heroic, crouched by the sergeant's side, vainly striving to pour water from a clumsy canteen between thesufferer's pallid lips. Carmody presently sucked eagerly at thecooling water, and even in his hour of dissolution seemed far thestronger, sturdier of the two--seemed to feel so infinite a pity forhis shaken comrade. Bleeding internally, as was evident, transfixed bythe cruel shaft they did not dare attempt to withdraw, even if thebarbed steel would permit, and drooping fainter with each swiftmoment, he was still conscious, still brave and uncomplaining. Hisdimmed and mournful eyes looked up in mute appeal to his youngcommander. He knew that he was going fast, and that whatever rescuemight come to these, his surviving fellow-soldiers, there would benone for him; and yet in his supreme moment he seemed to read thequestion on Blakely's lips, and his words, feeble and broken, wereframed to answer. 

"Couldn't--you hear 'em, lieutenant?" he gasped. "I can'tbe--mistaken. I know--the old--Springfield _sure_! I heard 'em wayoff--south--a dozen shots, " and then a spasm of agony choked him, andhe turned, writhing, to hide the anguish on his face. Blakely graspedthe dying soldier's hand, already cold and limp and nerveless, andthen his own voice seemed, too, to break and falter. 

"Don't try to talk, Carmody; don't try! Of course you are right. Itmust be some of our people. They'll reach us soon. Then we'll have thedoctor and can help you. Those saddle-bags!" he said, turning sharplyto the whimpering creature kneeling by them, and the lad drew handacross his streaming eyes and passed the worn leather pouches. Fromone of them Blakely drew forth a flask, poured some brandy into itscup and held it to the soldier's lips. Carmody swallowed almosteagerly. He seemed to crave a little longer lease of life. There wassomething tugging at his heartstrings, and presently he turned slowly, painfully again. "Lieutenant, " he gasped, "I'm not scared to die--thisway anyhow. There's no one to care--but the boys--but there's onething"--and now the stimulant seemed to reach the failing heart andgive him faint, fluttering strength--"there's one thing I ought--Iought to tell. You've been solid with the boys--you're square, and I'mnot--I haven't always been. Lieutenant--I was on guard--the night ofthe fire--and Elise, you know--the French girl--she--she's got mostall I saved--most all I--won, but she was trickin' me--all the time, lieutenant--me and Downs that's gone--and others. She didn't care. You--you aint the only one I--I--"

"Lieutenant!" came in excited whisper, the voice of Stern, and thereat his post in front of the cave he knelt, signaling urgently. "Lieutenant, quick!"

"One minute, Carmody! I've got to go. Tell me a little later. " Butwith dying strength Carmody clung to his hand. 

"I must tell you, lieutenant--now. It wasn't Downs's fault. She--shemade--"

"Lieutenant, quick! for God's sake! They're coming!" cried the voiceof the German soldier at the wall, and wrenching his wrist from theclasp of the dying man, Blakely sprang recklessly to his feet and tothe mouth of the cave just as Stern's carbine broke the stillness withresounding roar. Half a dozen rifles barked their instant echo amongthe rocks. From up the hillside rose a yell of savage hate and anotherof warning. Then from behind their curtaining rocks half a dozen duskyforms, their dirty white breechclouts streaming behind them, sprangsuddenly into view and darted, with goatlike ease and agility, zigzagging up the eastward wall. It was a foolish thing to do, butBlakely followed with a wasted shot, aimed one handed from theshoulder, before he could regain command of his judgment. In thirtyseconds the cliff was as bare of Apaches as but the moment before ithad been dotted. Something, in the moment when their savage plans andtriumph seemed secure, had happened to alarm the entire party. Withwarning shouts and signals they were scurrying out of the deep ravine, scattering, apparently, northward. But even as they fled to higherground there was order and method in their retreat. While several oftheir number clambered up the steep, an equal number lurked in theircovert, and Blakely's single shot was answered instantly by half adozen, the bullets striking and splashing on the rocks, the arrowsbounding or glancing furiously. Stern ducked within, out of the storm. Blakely, flattening like hunted squirrel close to the parapet, flungdown his empty carbine and strove to reach another, lying loaded atthe southward loophole, and at the outstretched hand there whizzed anarrow from aloft whose guiding feather fairly seared the skin, soclose came the barbed messenger. Then up the height rang out a shrillcry, some word of command in a voice that had a familiar tang to it, and that was almost instantly obeyed, for, under cover of sharp, well-aimed fire from aloft, from the shelter of projecting rock orstranded bowlder, again there leaped into sight a few scattered, sinewy forms that rushed in bewildering zigzag up the steep, untilsafe beyond their supports, when they, too, vanished, and again thecliff stood barren of Apache foemen as the level of the garrisonparade. It was science in savage warfare against which the drill bookof the cavalry taught no method whatsoever. Another minute and eventhe shots had ceased. One glimpse more had Blakely of dingy, trailingbreechclouts, fluttering in the breeze now stirring the fringing pinesand cedars, and all that was left of the late besiegers cameclattering down the rocks in the shape of an Indian shield. Sternwould have scrambled out to nab it, but was ordered down. "Back, youidiot, or they'll have you next!" And then they heard the feeblevoice of Wren, pleading for water and demanding to be lifted to thelight. The uproar of the final volley had roused him from an almostdeathlike stupor, and he lay staring, uncomprehending, at Carmody, whose glazing eyes were closed, whose broken words had ceased. Thepoor fellow was drifting away into the shadows with his story stilluntold. 

"Watch here, Stern, but keep under cover, " cried Blakely. "I'll see tothe captain. Listen for any shot or sound, but hold your fire, " andthen he turned to his barely conscious senior and spoke to him as hewould to a helpless child. Again he poured a little brandy in his cup. Again he held it to ashen lips and presently saw the faint flutter ofreviving strength. "Lie still just a moment or two, Wren, " he murmuredsoothingly. "Lie still. Somebody's coming. The troop is not far off. You'll soon have help and home and--Angela"--even then his tonguefaltered at her name. And Wren heard and with eager eyes questionedimploringly. The quivering lips repeated huskily the name of the childhe loved. "Angela--where?"

"Home--safe--where you shall be soon, old fellow, only--brace up now. I must speak one moment with Carmody, " and to Carmody eagerly heturned. "You were speaking of Elise and the fire--of Downs, sergeant----" His words were slow and clear and distinct, for the soldier haddrifted far away and must be recalled. "Tell me again. What was it?"

But only faint, swift gasping answered him. Carmody either heard not, or, hearing, was already past all possibility of reply. "Speak to me, Carmody. Tell me what I can do for you?" he repeated. "What word toElise?" He thought the name might rouse him, and it did. A feeble handwas uplifted, just an inch or two. The eyelids slowly fluttered, andthe dim, almost lifeless eyes looked pathetically up into those of theyoung commander. There was a moment of almost breathless silence, broken only by a faint moan from Wren's tortured lips and the childishwhimpering of that other--the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier. 

"Elise, " came the whisper, barely audible, as Carmody strove to lift hishead, "she--promised"--but the head sank back on Blakely's knee. Sternwas shouting at the stone gate--shouting and springing to his feet andswinging his old scouting hat and gazing wildly down the cañon. "ForGod's sake hush, man!" cried the lieutenant. "I must hear Carmody. " ButStern was past further shouting now. Sinking on his knees, he wassobbing aloud. Scrambling out into the daylight of the opening, butstill shrinking within its shelter, the half-crazed, half-broken soldierstood stretching forth his arms and calling wild words down the echoinggorge, where sounds of shouting, lusty-lunged, and a ringing order ortwo, and then the clamor of carbine shots, told of the coming of rescueand new life and hope, and food and friends, and still Blakely knelt andcircled that dying head with the one arm left him, and pleaded andbesought--even commanded. But never again would word or order stir thesoldier's willing pulse. The sergeant and his story had driftedtogether beyond the veil, and Blakely, slowly rising, found the lightedentrance swimming dizzily about him, first level and then up-ended;found himself sinking, whither he neither knew nor cared; found thecañon filling with many voices, the sound of hurrying feet and then ofmany rushing waters, and then--how was it that all was dark without thecave, and lighted--lantern-lighted--here within? They had had nolantern, no candle. Here were both, and here was a familiar face--oldHeartburn's--bending reassuringly over Wren, and someone was ----. Why, where was Carmody? Gone! And but a moment ago that dying head was thereon his knee, and then it was daylight, too, and now--why, it must beafter nightfall, else why these lanterns? And then old Heartburn camebending over him in turn, and then came a rejoiceful word:

"Hello, Bugs! Well, it _is_ high time you woke up! Here, take a swigof this!"

Blakely drank and sat up presently, dazed, and Heartburn went on withhis cheery talk. "One of you men out there call Captain Stout. Tellhim Mr. Blakely's up and asking for him, " and, feeling presently aglow of warmth coursing in his veins, the Bugologist roused to asitting posture and began to mumble questions. And then a burly shadowappeared at the entrance, black against the ruddy firelight in thecañon without, where other forms began to appear. Down on his kneecame Stout to clasp his one available hand and even clap him on theback and send unwelcome jar through his fevered, swollen arm. "Goodboy, Bugs! You're coming round famously. We'll start you back to Sandyin the morning, you and Wren, for nursing, petting, and all that sortof thing. They are lashing the saplings now for your litters, andwe've sent for Graham, too, and he'll meet you on the the way, whilewe shove on after Shield's people. "

"Shield--Raven Shield?" queried Blakely, still half dazed. "Shield waskilled--at Sandy, " and yet there was the memory of the voice he knewand heard in this very cañon. 

"Shield, yes; and now his brother heads them. Didn't he send his carddown to you, after the donicks, and be damned to him? You foregatheredwith both of them at the agency. Oh, they're all alike, Bugs, oncethey're started on the warpath. Now we must get you out into the openfor a while. The air's better. "

And so, an hour later, his arm carefully dressed and bandaged, comforted by needed food and fragrant tea and the news that Wren wasreviving under the doctor's ministrations, and would surely mend andrecover, Blakely lay propped by the fire and heard the story ofStout's rush through the wilderness to their succor. Never waiting forthe dawn, after a few hours' rest at Beaver Spring, the sturdydoughboys had eagerly followed their skilled and trusted leader allthe hours from eleven, stumbling, but never halting even for rest orrations, and at last had found the trail four miles below in thedepths of the cañon. There some scattering shots had met them, arrowand rifle both, from up the heights, and an effort was made to delaytheir progress. Wearied and footsore though were his men, they haddriven the scurrying foe from rock to rock and then, in a lull thatfollowed, had heard the distant sound of firing that told them whitherto follow on. Only one man, Stern, was able to give them coherent wordor welcome when at last they came, for Chalmers and Carmody lay dead, Wren in a stupor, Blakely in a deathlike swoon, and "that poor chapyonder" loony and hysterical as a crazy man. Thank God they had not, as they had first intended, waited for the break of day. 

Another dawn and Stout and most of his men had pushed on after theApaches and in quest of the troop at Sunset Pass. By short stages thesoldiers left in charge were to move the wounded homeward. By noonthese latter were halted under the willows by a little stream. Theguards were busy filling canteens and watering pack mules, when thesingle sentry threw his rifle to the position of "ready" and the gunlock clicked loud. Over the stony ridge to the west, full a thousandyards away, came a little band of riders in single file, four men inall. Wren was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. Blakely, feverish andexcited, was wide awake. Mercifully the former never heard the firstquestion asked by the leading rider--Arnold, the ranchman--as he camejogging into the noonday bivouac. Stone, sergeant commanding, had runforward to meet and acquaint him with the condition of the rescuedmen. "Got there in time then, thank God!" he cried, as wearily heflung himself out of saddle and glanced quickly about him. There layWren, senseless and still between the lashed ribs of his litter. Therelay Blakely, smiling feebly and striving to hold forth a wasted hand, but Arnold saw it not. Swiftly his eyes flitted from face to face, from man to man, then searched the little knot of mules, sidelined andnibbling at the stunted herbage in the glen. "I don't see Punch, " hefaltered. "Wh-where's Miss Angela?"

CHAPTER XXI

OUR VANISHED PRINCESS

Then came a story told in fierce and excited whisperings, Arnold thespeaker, prompted sometimes by his companions; Stone, and the fewsoldiers grouped about him, awe-stricken and dismayed. Blakely hadstarted up from his litter, his face white with an awful dread, listening in wordless agony. 

At six the previous morning, loping easily out from Sandy, Arnold'speople had reached the ranch and found the veteran colonel with hisorderlies impatiently waiting for them. These latter had had abundantfood and coffee and the colonel was fuming with impatience to move, but Arnold's people had started on empty stomachs, counting on ahearty breakfast at the ranch. José could have it ready in shortorder. So Byrne, with his men, mounted and rode ahead on the trail ofthe infantry, saying the rest could overtake him before he reached therocky and dangerous path over the first range. For a few miles theBeaver Valley was fairly wide and open. Not twenty minutes later, asArnold's comrades sat on the porch on the north side of the house, they heard swift hoof-beats, and wondered who could be coming now. But, without an instant's pause, the rider had galloped by, and one ofthe men, hurrying to the corner of the ranch, was amazed to see thelithe, slender form of Angela Wren speeding her pet pony like the windup the sandy trail. Arnold refused to believe at first, but his eyesspeedily told him the same story. He had barely a glimpse of herbefore she was out of sight around a grove of willows up the stream. "Galloping to catch the colonel, " said he, and such was his belief. Angela, he reasoned, had hastened after them to send some message oflove to her wounded father, and had perhaps caught sight of the triofar out in the lead. Arnold felt sure that they would meet her comingback, sure that there was no danger for her, with Byrne and hisfellows well out to the front. They finished their breakfast, therefore, reset their saddles, mounted and rode for an hour towardthe Mogollon and still the pony tracks led them on, overlying those ofthe colonel's party. Then they got among the rocks and only atintervals found hoof-prints; but, far up along the range, caught sightof the three horsemen, and so, kept on. It was after ten when at lastthey overtook the leaders, and then, to their consternation, AngelaWren was not with them. They had neither seen nor heard of her, andByrne was aghast when told that, alone and without a guide, she hadridden in among the foothills of those desolate, pathless mountains. "The girl is mad, " said he, "and yet it's like her to seek to reachher father. "

Instantly they divided forces to search for her. Gorges and cañonsinnumerable seamed the westward face of this wild spur of the Sierras, and, by the merest luck in the world, one of Arnold's men, spurringalong a stony ridge, caught sight of a girlish form far across a deepravine, and quickly fired two shots in signal that he had "sighted"the chase. It brought Arnold and two of his men to the spot and, threading their way, sometimes afoot and leading their steeds, sometimes in saddle and urging them through the labyrinth of bowlders, they followed on. At noon they had lost not only all sight of her, butof their comrades, nor had they seen the latter since. Byrne and hisorderlies, with three of the party that "pulled out" from Sandy withArnold in the morning, had disappeared. Again and again they firedtheir Henrys, hoping for answering signal, or perhaps to attractAngela's attention. All doubt as to her purpose was now ended. Mad shemight be, but determined she was, and had deliberately dodged pastthem at the Beaver, fearing opposition to her project. At two, moreover, they found that she could "trail" as well as they, for amongthe stunted cedars at the crest of a steep divide, they found theprint of the stout brogans worn by their infantry comrades, and, downamong the rocks of the next ravine, crushed bits of hardtack by a"tank" in the hillside. She had stopped there long enough at least towater Punch, then pushed on again. 

Once more they saw her, not three miles ahead at four o'clock, justentering a little clump of pines at the top of a steep acclivity. Theyfired their rifles and shouted loud in hopes of halting her, but allto no purpose. Night came down and compelled them to bivouac. Theybuilt a big fire to guide the wanderers, but morning broke withoutsign of them; so on they went, for now, away from the rocks the trailwas often distinct, and once again they found the pony hoof-prints andthanked God. At seven by Arnold's watch, among the breaks across asteep divide they found another tank, more crumbs, a grain sack withsome scattered barley, more hardtack and the last trace of Angela. Arnold's hand shook, as did his voice, as he drew forth a littlefluttering ribbon--the "snood" poor Wren so loved to see binding hischild's luxuriant hair. 

They reasoned she had stopped here to feed and water her pony, and hadprobably bathed her face and flung loose her hair and forgotten laterthe binding ribbon. They believed she had followed on after Stout'shard-marching company. It was easy to trail. They counted on findingher when they found her father, and now here lay Wren unconscious ofher loss, and Blakely, realizing it all--cruelly, feverishly realizingit--yet so weakened by his wounds as to be almost powerless to marchor mount and go in search of her. 

No question now as to the duty immediately before them. In twentyminutes the pack mules were again strapped between the saplings, thelittle command was slowly climbing toward the westward heights, withArnold and two of his friends scouting the rough trail and hillsides, firing at long intervals and listening in suspense almost intolerablefor some answering signal. The other of their number had volunteeredto follow Stout over the plateau toward the Pass and acquaint him withthe latest news. 

While the sun was still high in the heavens, far to the northward, they faintly heard or thought they heard two rifle shots. At fouro'clock, as they toiled through a tangle of rock and stunted pine, Arnold, riding well to the front, came suddenly out upon a bare ledgefrom which he could look over a wild, wide sweep of mountain side, stretching leagues to north and south, and there his keen andpracticed eye was greeted by a sight that thrilled him with dreadunspeakable. Dread, not for himself or his convoy of wounded, butdread for Angela. Jutting, from the dark fringe of pines along aprojecting bluff, perhaps four miles away, little puffs or clouds ofsmoke, each separate and distinct, were sailing straight aloft in thepulseless air--Indian signals beyond possibility of doubt. SomeApaches, then, were still hovering about the range overlooking thebroad valley of the Sandy, some of the bands then were prowling in themountains between the scouting troops and the garrisoned post. Somemust have been watching this very trail, in hopes of interceptingcouriers or stragglers, some _must_ have seen and seized poor Angela. 

He had sprung from saddle and leveled his old field glass at thedistant promontory, so absorbed in his search he did not note thecoming of the little column. The litter bearing Blakely foremost ofthe four had halted close beside him, and Blakely's voice, weak andstrained, yet commanding, suddenly startled him with demand to be toldwhat he saw, and Arnold merely handed him the glass and pointed. Thelast of the faint smoke puffs was just soaring into space, makingfour still in sight. Blakely never even took the binocular. He hadseen enough by the unaided eye. 

[Illustration: "INDIAN SIGNALS BEYOND POSSIBILITY OF A DOUBT"]

With uplifted hand the sergeant had checked the coming of the nextlitter, Wren's, and those that followed it. One of the wounded men, the poor lad crazed by the perils of the siege, was alert and beggingfor more water, but Wren was happily lost to the world in swoon orslumber. To the soldier bending over him he seemed scarcely breathing. Presently they were joined by two of Arnold's party who had beensearching out on the left flank. They, too, had seen, and the threewere now in low-toned conference. Blakely for the moment was unnoted, forgotten. 

"That tank--where we found the ribbon--was just about two milesyonder, " said Arnold, pointing well down the rugged slope toward thesouthwest, where other rocky, pine-fringed heights barred the view tothe distant Sandy. "Surely the colonel or some of his fellows must bealong here. Ride ahead a hundred yards or so and fire a couple ofshots, " this to one of his men, who silently reined his tired broncointo the rude trail among the pine cones and disappeared. The otherswaited. Presently came the half-smothered sound of a shot and ahalf-stifled cry from the rearmost litter. Every such shock meant newterror to that poor lad, but Wren never stirred. Half a minute passedwithout another sound than faint and distant echo; then faint, and notso distant, came another sound, a prolonged shout, and presentlyanother, and then a horseman hove in sight among the trees across anearly mile-wide dip. Arnold and his friends rode on to meet him, leaving the litters at the crest. In five minutes one of the ridersreappeared and called: "It's Horn, of the orderlies. He reportsColonel Byrne just ahead. Come on!" and turning, dove back down thetwisted trail. 

The colonel might have been just ahead when last seen, but when theyreached the tank he was far aloft again, scouting from another heightto the northward, and while the orderly went on to find and tell him, Arnold and his grave-faced comrade dismounted there to await thecoming of the litters. Graver were the faces even than before. Thenews that had met them was most ominous. Two of those who searchedwith Colonel Byrne had found pony tracks leading northward--leading inthe very direction in which they had seen the smoke. There was noother pony shoe in the Sandy valley. It could be none other thanAngela's little friend and comrade--Punch. 

And this news they told to Blakely as the foremost litter came. Helistened with hardly a word of comment; then asked for his scoutingnotebook. He was sitting up now. They helped him from his springycouch to a seat on the rocks, and gave him a cup of the cold water. One by one the other litters were led into the little amphitheater andunlashed. Everyone seemed to know that here must be the bivouac forthe night, their abiding place for another day, perhaps, unless theyshould find the captain's daughter. They spoke, when they spoke atall, in muffled tones, these rough, war-worn men of the desert andthe mountain. They bent over the wounded with sorrowing eyes, andwondered why no surgeon had come out to meet them. Heartburn, ofcourse, had done his best, dressing and rebandaging the wounds atdawn, but then he had to go on with Stout and the company, while oneof the Apache Yumas was ordered to dodge his way in to Sandy, with aletter urging that Graham be sent out to follow the trail and meet thereturning party. 

Meanwhile the sun had dropped behind the westward heights; the nightwould soon be coming down, chill and overcast. Byrne was still away, but he couldn't miss the tank, said one of the troopers who had riddenwith him. Twice during the morning they had all met there and thengone forth again, searching--searching. Punch's little hoof-tracks, cutting through a sandy bit in the northward ravine, had drawn themall that way, but nothing further had been found. His horse, too, saidthe orderly, was lame and failing, so he had been bidden to wait bythe water and watch for couriers either from the front or out from thepost. Byrne was one of those never-give-up men, and they all knew him. 

Barley was served out to the animals, a little fire lighted, lookoutswere stationed, and presently their soldier supper was ready, andstill Blakely said nothing. He had written three notes or letters, oneof which seemed to give him no little trouble, for one after anotherhe thrust two leaves into the fire and started afresh. At length theywere ready, and he signaled to Arnold. "You can count, I think, onGraham's getting here within a few hours, " said he. "Meantime you'reas good a surgeon as I need. Help me on with this sling. " And stillthey did not fathom his purpose. He was deathly pale, and his eyeswere eloquent of dread unspeakable, but he seemed to have forgottenpain, fever, and prostration. Arnold, in the silent admiration of thefrontier, untied the support, unloosed the bandages, and together theyredressed the ugly wound. Then presently the Bugologist stood feeblyupon his feet and looked about him. It was growing darker, and notanother sound had come from Byrne. 

"Start one of your men into Sandy at once, " said Blakely, to thesergeant, and handed him a letter addressed to Major Plume. "He willprobably meet the doctor before reaching the Beaver. These other twoI'll tell you what to do with later. Now, who has the best horse?"

Arnold stared. Sergeant Stone quickly turned and saluted. "Thelieutenant is not thinking of mounting, I hope, " said he. 

Blakely did not even answer. He was studying the orderly's bay. Stiffand a little lame he might be, but, refreshed and strengthened byabundant barley, he was a better weight-carrier than the other, andBlakely had weight. "Saddle your horse, Horn, " said he, "and fasten onthose saddle-bags of mine. "

"But, lieutenant, " ventured Arnold, "you are in no shape to rideanything but that litter. Whatever you think of doing, let me do. "

"What I am thinking of doing nobody else can do, " said Blakely. "Whatyou can do is, keep these two letters till I call for them. If at theend of a week I fail to call, deliver them as addressed and to nobodyelse. Now, before dark I must reach that point younder, " and heindicated the spot where in the blaze of the westering sun a mass ofrock towered high above the fringing pine and mournful shadows at itsbase, a glistening landmark above the general gloom at the lower leveland at that hour of the afternoon. "Now, " he added quietly, "you canhelp me into saddle. "

"But for God's sake, lieutenant, let some of us ride with you, "pleaded Arnold. "If Colonel Byrne was here he'd never let you go. "

"Colonel Byrne is not here, and I command, I believe, " was the brief, uncompromising answer. "And no man rides with me because, with anotherman, I'd never find what I'm in search of. " For a moment he bent overWren, a world of wordless care, dread, and yet determination in hispale face. Arnold saw his wearied eyes close a moment, his lips moveas though in petition, then he suddenly turned. "Let me have thatribbon, " said he bluntly, and without a word Arnold surrendered it. Stone held the reluctant horse, Arnold helped the wounded soldier intothe saddle. "Don't worry about me--any of you, " said Blakely, in brieffarewell. "Good-night, " and with that he rode away. 

Arnold and the men stood gazing after him. "Grit clean through, " saidthe ranchman, through his set teeth, for a light was dawning on him, as he pondered over Blakely's words. "May the Lord grant I don't haveto deliver these!" Then he looked at the superscriptions. One letterwas addressed to Captain, or Miss Janet, Wren--the other to Mrs. Plume. 

CHAPTER XXII

SUSPENSE

Sandy again. Four of the days stipulated by Lieutenant Blakely had runtheir course. The fifth was ushered in, and from the moment he rodeaway from the bivouac at the tanks no word had come from theBugologist, no further trace of Angela. In all its history thegarrison had known no gloom like this. The hospital was filled withwounded. An extra surgeon and attendants had come down from Prescott, but Graham was sturdily in charge. Of his several patients Wrenprobably was now causing him the sorest anxiety, for the captain hadbeen grievously wounded and was pitiably weak. Now, when aroused attimes from the lassitude and despond in which he lay, Wren wouldpersist in asking for Angela, and, not daring to tell him the truth, Janet, Calvinist that she was to the very core, had to do fearfulviolence to her feelings and lie. By the advice of bluff old Byrne andthe active connivance of the post commander, they had actually, thesestern Scotch Presbyterians, settled on this as the deception to bepracticed--that Angela had been drooping so sadly from anxiety anddread she had been taken quite ill, and Dr. Graham had declared shemust be sent up to Prescott, or some equally high mountain resort, there to rest and recuperate. She was in good hands, said thesearch-conspirators. She might be coming home any day. As for the troopand the campaign, he mustn't talk or worry or think about them. Thegeneral, with his big field columns, had had no personal contact withthe Indians. They had scattered before him into the wild countrytoward the great Colorado, where Stout, with his hickory-builtfootmen, and Brewster, with most of Wren's troop, were stirring upApaches night and day, while Sanders and others were steadily drivingon toward the old Wingate road. Stout had found Brewster beleaguered, but safe and sound, with no more men killed and few seriously wounded. They had communicated with Sanders's side scouts, and were finding andfollowing fresh trails with every day, when Stout was surprised toreceive orders to drop pursuit and start with Brewster's fellows andto scout the west face of the mountains from the Beaver to the heightsopposite the old Indian reservation. There was a stirring scene atbivouac when that order came, and with it the explanation that AngelaWren had vanished and was probably captured; that Blakely had followedand was probably killed. "They might shoot Blakely in fair fight, "said Stout, who knew him, and knew the veneration that lived for himin the hearts of the Indian leaders, "but they at least would neverbutcher him in cold blood. Their unrestrained young men might do it. "Stout's awful dread, like that of every man and woman at Sandy, andevery soldier in the field, was for Angela. The news, too, had beenrushed to the general, and his orders were instant. "Find the chiefsin the field, " said he to his interpreter and guide. "Find Shield'speople, and say that if a hair of her head is injured I shall huntthem down, braves, women, and children--I shall hunt them anyhow untilthey surrender her unharmed. "

But the Apaches were used to being hunted, and some of them reallyliked the game. It was full of exhilaration and excitement, and not afew chances to hunt and hit back. The threat conveyed no terror to therenegades. It was to the Indians at the reservation that the tidingsbrought dismay, yet even there, so said young Bridger, leaders andfollowers swore they had no idea where the white maiden could be, muchless the young chief. They, the peaceable and the poor servants of thegreat Father at Washington, had no dealings with these others, hisfoes. 

About the post, where gloom and dread unspeakable prevailed, there wasno longer the fear of possible attack. The Indian prisoners in theguard-house had dropped their truculent, defiant manner, and becomeagain sullen and apathetic. The down-stream settlers had returned totheir ranches and reported things undisturbed. Even the horse that hadbeen missing and charged to Downs had been accounted for. They foundhim grazing placidly about the old pasture, with the rope haltertrailing, Indian-knotted, from his neck, and his gray hide stillshowing stains of blood about the mane and withers. They wondered wasit on this old stager the Apaches had borne the wounded girl to thegarrison--she who still lay under the roof of Mother Shaughnessy, timidly visited at times by big-eyed, shy little Indian maids from thereservation, who would speak no word that Sudsville could understand, and few that even Wales Arnold could interpret. All they would orcould divulge was that she was the daughter of old Eskiminzin, who wasout in the mountains, and that she had been wounded "over there, " andthey pointed eastward. By whom and under what circumstances they sworethey knew not, much less did they know of Downs, or of how she chancedto have the scarf once worn by the Frenchwoman Elise. 

Then Arnold's wife and brood had gone back to their home up theBeaver, while he himself returned to the search for Angela and forBlakely. But those four days had passed without a word of hope. Inlittle squads a dozen parties were scouring the rugged cañons andcliffs for signs, and finding nothing. Hours each day Plume would cometo the watchers on the bluff to ask if no courier had been sighted. Hours each night the sentries strained their eyes for signal fires. Graham, slaving with his sick and wounded, saw how haggard and wornthe commander was growing, and spoke a word of caution. Something toldhim it was not all on account of those woeful conditions at the front. From several sources came the word that Mrs. Plume was in a statebordering on hysteric at department headquarters, where sympatheticwomen strove vainly to comfort and soothe her. It was then that Elisebecame a center of interest, for Elise was snapping with electricforce and energy. "It is that they will assassinate madame--thesemonsters, " she declared. "It is imperative, it is of absolute need, that madame be taken to the sea, and these wretches, unfeeling, theyforbid her to depart. " Madame herself, it would seem, so said thosewho had speech with her, declared she longed to be again with herhusband at Sandy. Then it was Elise who demanded that they shouldmove. Elise was mad to go--Elise, who took a turn of her own, ascreaming fit, when the news came of the relief of Wren's littleforce, of the death of their brave sergeant, of the strange tale that, before dying, Carmody had breathed a confession to Lieutenant Blakely, which Blakely had reduced to writing before he set forth on his ownhapless mission. It was Mrs. Plume's turn now to have to play nurseand comforter, and to strive to soothe, even to the extent ofpromising that Elise should be permitted to start by the very nextstage to the distant sea, but when it came to securing passage, and infeverish, nervous haste the Frenchwoman had packed her chosenbelongings into the one little trunk the stage people would consent tocarry, lo! there came to her a messenger from headquarters whereColonel Byrne, grim, silent, saturnine, was again in charge. Anyattempt on her part to leave would result in her being turned over atonce to the civil authorities, and Elise understood and raved, butrisked not going to jail. Mullins, nursed by his devoted Norah, wassitting up each day now, and had been seen by Colonel Byrne as thatveteran passed through, ten pounds lighter of frame and heavier ofheart than when he set forth, and Mullins had persisted in the storythat he had been set upon and stabbed by two women opposite LieutenantBlakely's quarters. What two had been seen out there that night butClarice Plume and her Gallic shadow, Elise?

Meantime Aunt Janet was "looking ghastly, " said the ladies along thatsomber line of quarters, and something really ought to be done. Justwhat that something should be no two could unite in deciding, butreally Major Plume or Dr. Graham ought to see that, if somethingwasn't done, she would break down under the awful strain. She hadgrown ten years older in five days, they declared--was turningfearfully gray, and they were sure she never slept a wink. Spoken toon this score, poor Miss Wren was understood to say she not only couldnot sleep, but she did not wish to. Had she kept awake and watchedAngela, as was her duty, the child could never have succeeded in herwild escapade. The "child, " by the way, had displayed raregeneralship, as speedily became known. She must have made her fewpreparations without a betraying sound, for even Kate Sanders, in thesame room, was never aroused--Kate, who was now well-nightheartbroken. They found that Angela had crept downstairs in herstockings, and had put on her riding moccasins and leggings at thekitchen steps. There, in the sand, were the tracks of her long, slender feet. They found that she had taken with her a roomyhunting-pouch that hung usually in her father's den. She had filledit, apparently, with food, --tea, sugar, even lemons, for half a dozenof this precious and hoarded fruit had disappeared. Punch, too, hadbeen provided for. She had "packed" a half-bushel of barley from thestables. There was no one to say Miss Angela nay. She might haveridden off with the flag itself and no sentry would more than think ofstopping her. Just what fate had befallen her no one dare suggest. Theone thing, the only one, that roused a vestige of hope was thatLieutenant Blakely had gone _alone_ on what was thought to be hertrail. 

Now here was a curious condition of things. If anyone had been askedto name the most popular officer at Sandy, there would have been noend of discussion. Perhaps the choice would have lain between Sanders, Cutler, and old Westervelt--good and genial men. Asked to name theleast popular officer, and, though men, and women, too, would haveshrunk from saying it, the name that would have occurred to almost allwas that of Blakely. And why? Simply because he stood alone, self-poised, self-reliant, said his few friends, "self-centered andself_ish_, " said more than Mrs. Bridger, whereas a more generous manhad never served at Sandy. That, however, they had yet to learn. Butwhen a man goes his way in the world, meddling with no one else'sbusiness, and never mentioning his own, courteous and civil, but neverintimate, studying a good deal but saying little, asking no favors andgranting few, perhaps because seldom asked, the chances are he willwin the name of being cold, indifferent, even repellent, "too high, mighty, and superior. " His very virtues become a fault, for men andwomen love best those who are human like themselves, however they mayrespect. Among the troopers Blakely was as yet something of an enigma. His manner of speaking to them was unlike that of most of hisfellows--it was grave, courteous, dignified, never petulant orirritable. In those old cavalry days most men better fancied somethingmore demonstrative. "I like to see an officer flare up and--saythings, " said a veteran sergeant. "This here bug-catcher is too damnedcold-blooded. " They respected him, yes; yet they little understood andless loved him. They had known him too short a time. 

But among the Indians Blakely was a demi-god. Grave, unruffled, scrupulously exact in word and deed, he made them trust him. Brave, calm, quick in moments of peril, he made them admire him. Howfearlessly he had stepped into the midst of that half-frenziedsextette, _tiswin_ drunk, and disarmed Kwonagietah and two of hisfellow-revelers! How instant had been his punishment of that raging, rampant, mutinous old medicine man, 'Skiminzin, who dared to threatenhim and the agency! (That episode only long years after reached theears of the Indian Advancement Association in the imaginative East. )How gently and skillfully he had ministered to Shield's youngerbrother, and to the children of old Chief Toyah! It was this, in fact, that won the hate and envy of 'Skiminzin. How lavish was Blakely'sbounty to the aged and to the little ones, and Indians love theirchildren infinitely! The hatred or distrust of Indian man or woman, once incurred, is venomous and lasting. The trust, above all thegratitude, of the wild race, once fairly won, is to the full asstable. Nothing will shake it. There are those who say the love of anIndian girl, once given, surpasses that of her Circassian sister, andBridger now was learning new stories of the Bugologist with every dayof his progress in Apache lore. He had even dared to bid his impulsivelittle wife "go slow, " should she ever again be tempted to sayspiteful things of Blakely. "If what old Toyah tells me is true, " saidhe, "and I believe him, Hualpai or Apache Mohave, there isn't a decentIndian in this part of Arizona that wouldn't give his own scalp tosave Blakely. " Mrs. Bridger did not tell this at the time, for she hadsaid too much the other way; but, on this fifth day of our hero'sabsence, there came tidings that unloosed her lips. 

Just at sunset an Indian runner rode in on one of Arnold's horses, andbearing a dispatch for Major Plume. It was from that sturdycampaigner, Captain Stout, who knew every mile of the old trailthrough Sunset Pass long years before even the ----th Cavalry, --thepredecessors of Plume, and Wren, and Sanders, --and what Stout said noman along the Sandy ever bade him swear to. 

 "Surprised small band, Tontos, at dawn to-day. They had saddle blanket marked 'W. A. ' [Wales Arnold], and hat and underclothing marked 'Downs. ' Indian boy prisoner says Downs was caught just after the 'big burning' at Camp Sandy [Lieutenant Blakely's quarters]. He says that Alchisay, Blakely's boy courier, was with them two days before, and told him Apache Mohaves had more of Downs's things, and that a white chief's daughter was over there in the Red Rocks. Sanders, with three troops, is east of us and searching that way now. This boy says Alchisay knew that Natzie and Lola had been hiding not far from Willow Tank on the Beaver trail--our route--but had fled from there same time Angela disappeared. Against her own people Natzie would protect Blakely, even were they demanding his life in turn for her Indian lover, Shield's. If these girls can be tracked and found, I believe you will have found Blakely and will find Angela. "

That night, after being fed and comforted until even an Indian couldeat no more, the messenger, a young Apache Mohave, wanted _papel_ togo to the agency, but Plume had other plans. "Take him down toShaughnessy's, " said he to Truman, "and see if he knows that girl. " Sotake him they did, and at sight of his swarthy face the girl had givena low cry of sudden, eager joy; then, as though reading warning in hisglance, turned her face away and would not talk. It was the play ofalmost every Apache to understand no English whatever, yet Trumancould have sworn she understood when he asked her if she could guesswhere Angela was in hiding. The Indian lad had shaken his head anddeclared he knew nothing. The girl was dumb. Mrs. Bridger happened ina moment later, coming down with Mrs. Sanders to see how the strangepatient was progressing. They stood in silence a moment, listening toTruman's murmured words. Then Mrs. Bridger suddenly spoke. "Ask her ifshe knows Natzie's cave, " said she. "Natzie's cave, " she repeated, with emphasis, and the Indian girl guilelessly shook her head, andthen turned and covered her face with her hands. 

CHAPTER XXIII

AN APACHE QUEEN

In the slant of the evening sunshine a young girl, an Indian, wascrouching among the bare rocks at the edge of a steep and ruggeddescent. One tawny little hand, shapely in spite of scratches, wasuplifted to her brows, shading her keen and restless eyes against theglare. In the other hand, the right, she held a little, circularpocket-mirror, cased in brass, and held it well down in the shade. Only the tangle of her thick, black hair and the top of her head couldbe seen from the westward side. Her slim young body was clothed in adark-blue, well-made garment, half sack, half skirt, with long, loosetrousers of the same material. There was fanciful embroidery of beadand thread about the throat. There was something un-Indian about thecut and fashion of the garments that suggested civilized and femininesupervision. The very way she wore her hair, parted and rolling back, instead of tumbling in thick, barbaric "bang" into her eyes, spoke ofother than savage teaching; and the dainty make of her moccasins; thesoft, pliant folds of the leggins that fell, Apache fashion, about herankles, all told, with their beadwork and finish, that this was nounsought girl of the tribespeople. Even the sudden gesture with which, never looking back, she cautioned some follower to keep down, spokesignificantly of rank and authority. It was a chief's daughter thatknelt peering intently over the ledge of rocks toward the blackshadows of the opposite slope. It was Natzie, child of a warriorleader revered among his people, though no longer spared to guidethem--Natzie, who eagerly, anxiously searched the length of the darkgorge for sign or signal, and warned her companion to come no further. 

Over the gloomy depths, a mile away about a jutting point, three orfour buzzards were slowly circling, disturbed, yet determined. Overthe broad valley that extended for miles toward the westward range ofheights, the mantle of twilight was slowly creeping, as in hisexpressive sign language the Indian spreads his extended hands, palmsdown, drawing and smoothing imaginary blanket, the robe of night, overthe face of nature. Far to the northward, from some point along theface of the heights, a fringe of smoke was drifting in the soft breezesweeping down the valley from the farther Sierras. Wild, untrodden, undesired of man, the wilderness lay outspread--miles and miles ofgloom and desolation, save where some lofty scarp of glistening rock, jutting from among the scattered growth of dark-hued pine and cedar, caught the brilliant rays of the declining sun. 

Behind the spot where Natzie knelt, the general slope was broken by anarrow ledge or platform, bowlder-strewn--from which, almostvertically, rose the rocky scarp again. Among the sturdy, stunted firtrees, bearding the rugged face, frowned a deep fissure, dark as awolf den, and, just in front of it, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, crouchedLola--Natzie's shadow. Rarely in reservation days, until after Blakelycame as agent, were they ever seen apart, and now, in these days ofexile and alarm, they were not divided. Under a spreading cedar, closeto the opening, a tiny fire glowed in a crevice of the rocks, sendingforth no betraying smoke. About it were some rude utensils, a pot ortwo, a skillet, an earthen _olla_, big enough to hold perhaps threegallons, two bowls of woven grass, close plaited, almost, as thefamous fiber of Panama. In one of these was heaped a store of_piñons_, in the other a handful or two of wild plums. Sign ofcivilization, except a battered tin teapot, there was none, yetpresently was there heard a sound that told of Anglo-Saxonpresence--the soft voice of a girl in low-toned, sweet-wordedsong--song so murmurous it might have been inaudible save in theintense stillness of that almost breathless evening--song so low thatthe Indian girl, intent in her watch at the edge of the cliff, seemednot to hear at all. It was Lola who heard and turned impatiently, ablack frown in her snapping eyes, and a lithe young Indian lad, hitherto unseen, dropped noiselessly from a perch somewhere above themand, filling a gourd at the _olla_, bent and disappeared in the narrowcrevice back of the curtain of firs. The low song ceased gradually, softly, as a mother ceases her crooning lullaby, lest the very lack ofthe love-notes stir the drowsing baby brain to sudden waking. 

With the last words barely whispered the low voice died away. TheIndian lad came forth into the light again, empty-handed; plucked atLola's gown, pointed to Natzie, for the moment forgotten, now urgentlybeckoning. Bending low, they ran to her. She was pointing across thedeep gorge that opened a way to the southward. Something far downtoward its yawning mouth had caught her eager eye, and grasping thearm of the lad with fingers that twitched and burned, she whispered inthe Apache tongue:

"They're coming. "

One long look the boy gave in the direction pointed, then, backingaway from the edge, he quickly swept away a Navajo blanket that hungfrom the protruding branches of a low cedar, letting the broad lightinto the cavelike space beyond. There, on a hard couch of rock, skin, and blanket, lay a fevered form in rough scouting dress. There, withpinched cheeks, and eyes that heavily opened, dull and suffused, laythe soldier officer who had ridden forth to rescue and to save, himself now a crippled and helpless captive. Beside him, wringing outa wet handkerchief and spreading it on the burning forehead, kneltAngela. The girls who faced each other for the first time at thepool--the daughter of the Scotch-American captain--the daughter of theApache Mohave chief--were again brought into strange companionshipover the unconscious form of the soldier Blakely. 

[Illustration: "THEN SLOWLY THEY SAW HER RAISE HER RIGHT HAND, STILLCAUTIOUSLY HOLDING THE LITTLE MIRROR"]

Resentful of the sudden glare that caused her patient to shrink andtoss complainingly, Angela glanced up almost in rebuke, but wasstilled by the look and attitude of the young savage. He stood withforefinger on his closed lips, bending excitedly toward her. He wascautioning her to make no sound, even while his very coming broughtdisturbance to her first thought--her fevered patient. Then, seeingboth rebuke and question in her big, troubled eyes, the young Indianremoved his finger and spoke two words: "Patchie come, " and, rising, she followed him out to the flat in front. 

Natzie at the moment was still crouching close to the edge, gazingintently over, one little brown hand nervously grasping the branch ofa stunted cedar, the other as nervously clutching the mirror. Soutterly absorbed was she that the hiss of warning, or perhaps ofhatred, with which Lola greeted the sudden coming of Angela, seemed tofall unnoted on her ears. Lola, her black eyes snapping and her lipscompressed, glanced up at the white girl almost in fury. Natzie, paying no heed whatever to what was occurring about her, kneltbreathless at her post, watching, eagerly watching. Then, slowly, theysaw her raise her right hand, still cautiously holding the littlemirror, face downward, and at sight of this the Apache boy couldscarcely control his trembling, and Lola, turning about, spoke somefurious words, in low, intense tone, that made him shrink back towardthe screen. Then the wild girl glared again at Angela, as though thesight of her were unbearable, and, with as furious a gesture, soughtto drive her, too, again to the refuge of the dark cleft, but Angelanever stirred. Paying no heed to Lola, the daughter of the soldiergazed only at the daughter of the chief, at Natzie, whose hand wasnow level with the surface of the rock. The next instant, far to thenorthwest flashed a slender beam of dazzling light, another--another. An interval of a second or two, and still another flash. Angela couldsee the tiny, nebulous dot, like will-'o-the-wisp, dancing far overamong the rocks across a gloomy gorge. She had never seen it before, but knew it at a glance. The Indian girl was signaling to some of herfather's people far over toward the great reservation, and the taleshe told was that danger menaced. Angela could not know that it toldstill more, --that danger menaced not only Natzie, daughter of onewarrior chief, and the chosen of another now among their heroicdead--it threatened those whom she was pledged to protect, evenagainst her own people. 

Somewhere down that deep and frowning rift to the southwest, Indianguides were leading their brethren on the trail of these refugeesamong the upper rocks. Somewhere, far over among the uplands to thenorthwest, other tribesfolk, her own kith and kin, were lurking, andthese the Indian girl was summoning with all speed to her aid. 

And in the slant of that same glaring sunshine, not four miles away, toiling upward along a rocky slope, following the faint sign here andthere of Apache moccasin, a little command of hardy, war-worn men hadnearly reached the crest when their leader signaled backward to thelong column of files, and, obedient to the excited gestures of theyoung Hualpai guide, climbed to his side and gazed intently over. What he saw on a lofty point of rocks, well away from the tortuous"breaks" through which they had made most of their wearying marchesfrom the upper Beaver, brought the light of hope, the fire of battle, to his somber eyes. "Send Arnold up here, " he shouted to the menbelow, and Arnold came, clambering past rock and bowlder until hereached the captain's side, took one look in the direction indicated, and brought his brown hand down with resounding swat on the butt ofhis rifle. "Treed 'em!" said he exultantly; then, with doubtful, backward glance along the crouching file of weary men, some sittingnow and fanning with their broad-brimmed hats, he turned again to thecaptain and anxiously inquired: "Can we make it before dark?"

"We must make it!" simply answered Stout. 

And then, far over among the heights between them and the reservation, there went suddenly aloft--one, two, three--compact little puffs ofbluish smoke. Someone was answering signals flashed from the rockypoint--someone who, though far away, was promising aid. 

"Let's be the first to reach them, lads, " said Stout, himself awearied man. And with that they slowly rose and went stumbling upward. The prize was worth their every effort, and hope was leading on. 

An hour later, with barely half the distance traversed, so steep androcky, so wild and winding, was the way, with the sun now tangent tothe distant range afar across the valley, they faintly heard a soundthat spurred them on--two shots in quick succession from unseendepths below the lofty point. And now they took the Indian jog trot. There was business ahead. 

Between them and that gleaming promontory now lay a comparatively openvalley, less cumbered with bowlders than were the ridges and ravinesthrough which they had come, less obstructed, too, with stunted trees. Here was opportunity for horsemen, hitherto denied, and Stout calledon Brewster and his score of troopers, who for hours had been towingtheir tired steeds at the rear of column. "Mount and push ahead!" saidhe. "You are Wren's own men. It is fitting you should get therefirst. "

"Won't the captain ride with us--now?" asked the nearest sergeant. 

"Not if it robs a man of his mount, " was the answer. Yet there waslonging in his eye and all men saw it. He had led them day after day, trudging afoot, because his own lads could not ride. Indeed, there hadbeen few hours when any horse could safely bear a rider. There camehalf a dozen offers now. "I'll tramp afoot if the captain 'll onlytake my horse, " said more than one man. 

And so the captain was with them, as with darkness settling down theyneared the great cliff towering against the southeastward sky. Thensuddenly they realized they were guided thither only just in time toraise a well-nigh fatal siege. Thundering down the mountain side a bigbowlder came tearing its way, launched from the very point that hadbeen the landmark of their eager coming, and with the downwardcrashing of the rock there burst a yell of fury. 

Midway up the steep incline, among the straggling timber, two litheyoung Indians were seen bounding out of a little gully, only just intime to escape. Two or three others, farther aloft, darted around ashoulder of cliff as though scurrying out of sight. From the edge ofthe precipice the crack of a revolver was followed by a second, andthen by a scream. "Dismount!" cried Brewster, as he saw the captainthrow himself from his horse; then, leaving only two or three togather in their now excited steeds, snapping their carbines to fullcock, with blazing eyes and firm-set lips, the chosen band began theirfinal climb. "Don't bunch. Spread out right and left, " were the onlycautions, and then in long, irregular line, up the mountain steep theyclambered, hope and duty still leading on, the last faint light of theNovember evening showing them their rocky way. Now, renegadoes, it isfight or flee for your lives!

Perhaps a hundred yards farther up the jagged face the leaders cameupon an incline so steep that, like the Tontos above them, they wereforced to edge around to the southward, whither their comradesfollowed. Presently, issuing from the shelter of the pines, they cameupon a bare and bowlder-dotted patch to cross which brought themplainly into view of the heights above, and almost instantly underfire. Shot after shot, to which they could make no reply, spat andflattened on the rocks about them, but, dodging and duckinginstinctively, they pressed swiftly on. Once more within the partialshelter of the pines across the open, they again resumed the climb, coming suddenly upon a sight that fairly spurred them. There, feetupward among the bowlders, stiff and swollen in death, lay all thatthe lynxes had left of a cavalry horse. Close at hand was the batteredtroop saddle. Caught in the bushes a few rods above was the foldedblanket, and, lodged in a crevice, still higher, lay the felt-coveredcanteen, stenciled with the number and letter of Wren's own troop. Itwas the horse of the orderly, Horn--the horse on which the Bugologisthad ridden away in search of Angela Wren. It was all the rescuersneeded to tell them they were now on the trail of both, and now thecarbines barked in earnest at every flitting glimpse of the foe, sending the wary Tontos skipping and scurrying southward. And, atlast, breathless, panting, well-nigh exhausted, the active leadersfound themselves halting at a narrow, twisting little game trail, winding diagonally up the slope, with that gray scarp of granitejutting from the mountain side barely one hundred yards farther; and, waving from its crest, swung by unseen hands, some white, flutteringobject, faintly seen in the gathering dusk, beckoned them on. The lastshots fired at the last Indians seen gleamed red in the autumngloaming. They, the rescuers, had reached their tryst only just asnight and darkness shrouded the westward valley. The last man up hadto grope his way, and long before that last man reached the ledge thecheering word was passed from the foremost climber: "Both here, boys, and safe!"

An hour later brought old Heartburn to the scene, scrambling up withthe other footmen, and speedily was he kneeling by the feveredofficer's side. The troopers had been sent back to their horses. OnlyStout, the doctor, Wales Arnold, and one or two sergeants remained atthe ledge, with rescued Angela, the barely conscious patient, andtheir protectors, the Indian girls. Already the boy had been hurriedoff with a dispatch to Sandy, and now dull, apathetic, and sullen, Lola sat shrouded in her blanket, while Arnold, with the little Apachedialect he knew, was striving to get from Natzie some explanation ofher daring and devotion. 

Between tears and laughter, Angela told her story. It was much as theyhad conjectured. Mad with anxiety on her father's account, she said, she had determined to reach him and nurse him. She felt sure that, with so many troops out between the post and the scene of action, there was less danger of her being caught by Indians than of beingturned back by her own people. She had purposely dashed by the ranch, fearing opposition, had purposely kept behind Colonel Byrne's partyuntil she found a way of slipping round and past them where she couldfeel sure of speedily regaining the trail. She had encountered neitherfriend nor foe until, just as she would have ridden away from theWillow Tanks, she was suddenly confronted by Natzie, Lola, and twoyoung Apaches. Natzie eagerly gesticulated, exclaiming, "Apaches, Apaches, " and pointing ahead up the trail, and, though she couldspeak no English, convincing Angela that she was in desperate danger. The others were scowling and hateful, but completely under Natzie'scontrol, and between them they hustled her pony into a ravine leadingto the north and led him along for hours, Angela, powerless toprevent, riding helplessly on. At last they made her dismount, andthen came a long, fearful climb afoot, up the steepest trail she hadever known, until it brought her here. And here, she could not tellhow many nights afterwards--it seemed weeks, so had the days and hoursdragged--here, while she slept at last the sleep of exhaustion, theyhad brought Mr. Blakely. He lay there in raging fever when she wasawakened that very morning by Natzie's crying in her ear some wordsthat sounded like: _"Hermano viene_! _Hermano viene_!"

[Illustration: "THEY HUSTLED HER PONY INTO A RAVINE"]

Stout had listened with absorbing interest and to the very last word. Then, as one who heard at length full explanation of what he haddeemed incredible, his hand went out and clutched that of Arnold, while his deep eyes, full of infinite pity, turned to where poorNatzie crouched, watching silently and in utter self-forgetfulness thedoctor's ministrations. 

"Wales, " he muttered, "that settles the whole business. Whatever youdo, --don't let that poor girl know that--they"--and now he warilyglanced toward Angela--"they--are _not_ brother and sister. "

CHAPTER XXIV

THE MEETING AT SANDY

December, and the noonday sun at Sandy still beat hotly on the barrenlevel of the parade. The fierce and sudden campaign seemed ended, forthe time, at least, as only in scattered remnants could the renegadeIndians be found. Eastward from the Agua Fria to the Chiquito, andnorthward from the Salado to the very cliffs of the grand cañon, thehard-worked troopers had scoured the wild and mountainous country, striking hard whenever they found a hostile band, striving ever, through interpreters and runners, to bring the nervous and suspicioustribes to listen to reason and to return to their reservations. Thisfor long days, however, seemed impossible. The tragic death of RavenShield, most popular of the young chiefs, struck down, as theyclaimed, when he was striving only to defend Natzie, daughter of arevered leader, had stirred the savages to furious reprisals, andnothing but the instant action of the troops in covering the valleyhad saved the scattered settlers from universal massacre. Enough hadbeen done by one band alone to thrill the West with horror, but thesehad fled southward into Mexico and were safe beyond the border. Thesettlers were slowly creeping back now to their abandoned homes, andone after another the little field detachments were marching to theiraccustomed stations. Sandy was filling up again with something besidesthe broken down and wounded. 

First to come in was Stout's triumphant half hundred, the happiestfamily of horse and foot, commingled, ever seen upon the Pacificslope, for their proud lot it had been to reach and rescue Angela, beloved daughter of the regiment, and Blakely, who had well-nighsacrificed himself in the effort to find and save her. Stout and histhirty "doughboys, " Brewster, the sergeant, with his twenty troopers, had been welcomed by the entire community as the heroes of the briefcampaign, but Stout would none of their adulation. 

"There is the one you should thank and bless, " said he, his eyesturning to where stood Natzie, sad and silent, watching the attendantswho were lifting Neil Blakely from the litter to the porch of thecommanding officer. 

They had brought her in with them, Lola and Alchisay as well--the lasttwo scowling and sullen, but ruled by the chieftain's daughter. Theyhad loaded her with praise and thanks, but she paid no heed. Two hoursafter Stout and his troopers had reached the cliff and driven away themurderous band of renegades--Tontos and Apache Yumas--bent on stealingher captives, there had come a little party of her own kindred inanswer to her signals, but these would have been much too late. Blakely would have been butchered. Angela and her benefactors, too, would probably have been the victims of their captors. Natzie couldlook for no mercy from them now. Through Wales Arnold, the captain andhis men had little by little learned the story of Natzie's devotion. In the eyes of her father, her brother, her people, Blakely wasgreater even than the famous big chief, Crook, the Gray Fox, who hadleft them, ordered to other duties but the year gone by. Blakely hadquickly righted the wrongs done them by a thieving agent. Blakely hadgiven fair trial to and saved the life of Mariano, that fiery brother, who, ironed by the former agent's orders, had with his shackled handsstruck down his persecutor and then escaped. Blakely had won theirundying gratitude, and Stout and Arnold saw now why it was that oneyoung brave, at least, could not share the love his people bore for_Gran Capitan Blanco_--that one was Quonothay--the Chief Raven Shield. They saw now why poor Natzie had no heart to give her Indian lover. They saw now why it was that Natzie wandered from the agency andhovered for some days before the outbreak there around the post. Itwas to be near the young white chief whom she well-nigh worshiped, whom she had been accustomed to see every day of her life during hisduties at the agency. They saw now why it was the savage girl haddared the vengeance of the Apaches by the rescue of Angela. Shebelieved her to be Blakely's sister, yet they could not give thereason why. They knew very little of Neil Blakely, but what they didknow made them doubt that he could ever have been the one at fault. Over this problem both ranchman and soldier, Arnold and Stout, lookedgrave indeed. It was not like Blakely that he should make a victim ofthis young Indian girl. She was barely sixteen, said Arnold, who knewher people well. She had never been alone with Blakely, said herkinsfolk, who came that night in answer to her signals. She had savedAngela, believing her to be Blakely's own blood, had led her to herown mountain refuge, and then, confident that Blakely would makesearch for it and for his sister, had gone forth and found him, already half-dazed with fever and exhaustion, and had striven to leadhis staggering horse up that precipitous trail. It was the poorbrute's last climb. Blakely she managed to bring in safety to herlofty eerie. The horse had fallen, worn out in the effort, and died onthe rocks below. She had roused Angela with what she thought would bejoyful tidings, even though she saw that her hero was desperately ill. She thought, of course, the white girl knew the few words of Spanishthat she could speak. All this was made evident to Arnold and Stout, partly through Natzie's young brother, who had helped to find andsupport the white chief, partly through the girl herself. It wasevident to Arnold, too, that up to the time of their coming nothinghad happened to undeceive Natzie as to that relationship. They triedto induce her to return to the agency, although her father and brotherwere still somewhere with the hostile bands, but she would not, shewould go with them to Sandy, and they could not deny her. More thanonce on that rough march of three days they found themselves askingwhat would the waking be. Angela, daughter of civilization, under safeescort, had been sent on ahead, close following the courier whoscurried homeward with the news. Natzie, daughter of the wilderness, could not be driven from the sight of Blakely's litter. The dumb, patient, pathetic appeal of her great soft eyes, as she watched everylook in the doctor's face, was something wonderful to see. But now, atlast, the fevered sufferer was home, still only semi-conscious, beingborne within the walls of the major's quarters, and she who had savedhim, slaved for him, dared for him, could only mutely gaze after hisprostrate and wasted form as it disappeared within the darkenedhallway in the arms of his men. Then came a light step bounding alongthe veranda--then came Angela, no longer clad in the riding garb inwhich hitherto Natzie had seen her, but in cool and shimmering white, with gladness and gratitude in her beautiful eyes, with welcome andprotection in her extended hand, and the Indian girl looked strangelyfrom her to the dark hallway within which her white hero haddisappeared, and shrank back from the proffered touch. If this was thesoldier's sister should not she now be at the soldier's side? Had sheother lodge than that which gave him shelter, now that his own wasburned? Angela saw for the first time aversion, question, suspicion inthe great black eyes from which the softness and the pleading hadsuddenly fled. Then, rebuffed, disturbed, and troubled, she turned toArnold, who would gladly have slipped away. 

"Can't _you_ make her understand, Mr. Arnold?" she pleaded. "I don'tknow a word of her language, and I so want to be her friend--so wantto take her to my home!"

And then the frontiersman did a thing for which, when she heard of itone sunset later, his better half said words of him and to him thatoverstepped all bounds of parliamentary usage, and that only a wifewould dare to employ. With the blundering stupidity of his sex, poorArnold "settled things" for many a day and well-nigh ruined thesweetest romance that Sandy had ever seen the birth of. 

"Ah, Miss Angela! only one place will ever be home to Natzie now. Hereyes will tell you that. "

And already, regardless of anything these women of the white chiefsmight think or say, unafraid save of seeing him no more, unashamedsave of being where she could not heed his every look or call orgesture, the daughter of the mountain and the desert stood gazingagain after the vanished form her eyes long months had worshiped, andthe daughter of the schools and civilization stood flushing one-halfmoment, then slowly paling, as, without another glance or effort, sheturned silently away. Kate Sanders it was who sprang quickly after herand encircled the slender waist with her fond and clasping arm. 

That night the powers of all Camp Sandy were exhausted in effort tosuitably provide for Natzie and her two companions. Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Bridger, even Mother Shaughnessy and Norah pleaded successively withthis princess of the wilderness, and pleaded in vain. Food andshelter elsewhere they proffered in abundance. Natzie sat stubbornlyat the major's steps, and sadly at first, and angrily later, shook herhead to every proposition. Then they brought food, and Lola andAlchisay ate greedily. Natzie would hardly taste a morsel. Every timePlume or Graham or a soldier nurse came forth her mournful eyes wouldstudy his face as though imploring news of the sufferer, who layunconscious of her vigil, if not of her existence. Graham's treatmentwas beginning to tell, and Blakely was sleeping the sleep of the just. They had not let him know of the poor girl's presence at the door. They would not let her in for fear he might awake and see her, and askthe reason of her coming. They would not send or take her away, forall Sandy was alive with the strange story of her devotion. Thequestion on almost every lip was "How is this to end?"

At tattoo there came a Mexican woman from one of the down-streamranches, sent in by the post trader, who said she could speak theApache-Mohave language sufficiently well to make Natzie understand thesituation, and this frontier linguist strove earnestly. Natzieunderstood every word she said, was her report, but could not be madeto understand that she ought to go. In the continued absence of Mrs. Plume, both the major and the post surgeon had requested of Mrs. Graham that she should come over for a while and "see what she coulddo, " and, leaving her own sturdy bairnies, the good, motherly soul hadcome and presided over this diplomatic interview, proposing variousplans for Natzie's disposition for the night. And other ladieshovering about had been sympathetically suggestive, but the Indiangirl had turned deaf ear to everything that would even temporarilytake her from her self-appointed station. At ten o'clock MotherShaughnessy, after hanging uneasily about the porch a moment or two, gave muttered voice to a suggestion that other women had shrunk frommentioning:

"Has she been tould Miss Angela and--him--is no kin at all, at all?"

"I don't want her told, " said Mrs. Graham briefly. 

And so Natzie was still there, sitting sleepless in the soft andradiant moonlight, when toward twelve o'clock Graham came forth fromhis last visit for the night, and she lifted up her head and lookedhim dumbly in the face, --dumbly, yet imploring a word of hope orcomfort, --and it was more than the soft-hearted Scot could bear. "Major, " said he, as he gently laid a big hand upon the black andtangled wealth of hair, "that lad in yonder would have been beyond theken of civilization days ago if it hadn't been for this little savage. I'm thinking he'll sleep none the worse for her watching over him. Todd's there for the night, the same that attended him before, and shewon't be strange with him--or I'm mistaken. "

"Why?" asked Plume, mystified. 

"I'm not saying, until Blakely talks for himself. For one reason Idon't _know_. For another, _he's_ the man to tell, if anybody, " and atoss of the head toward the dark doorway told who was meant by "he. "

"D'you mean you'd have this girl squatting there by Blakely's bedsidethe rest of the night?" asked the commander, ruffled in spirit. "What's to prevent her singing their confounded death song, orinvoking heathen spirits, or knifing us all, for that matter?"

"What was to prevent her from knifing the Bugologist and Angela both, when she had 'em?" was the sturdy reply. "The girl's a theoreticalheathen, but a practical Christian. Come with us, Natzie, " hefinished, one hand extended to aid her to rise, the other pointing tothe open doorway. She was on her feet in an instant, and, silentlysigning her companions to stay, followed the doctor into the house. 

And so it happened that when Blakely wakened, hours later, the sightthat met him, dimly comprehending, was that of a blue-coated soldiersnoozing in a reclining chair, a blue-blanketed Indian girl seated onthe floor near the foot of his bed, looking with all her soul in hergaze straight into his wondering eyes. At his low whisper, "Natzie, "she sprang to her feet without word or sound; seized the thin whitehand tremulously extended toward her, and, pillowing her cheek uponit, knelt humbly by the bedside, her black hair streaming to thefloor. A pathetic picture it made in the dim light of the newborn day, forcing itself through the shrouded windows, and Major Plume, restlessand astir the hour before reveille, stood unnoted a moment at thedoorway, then strode back through the hall and summoned from theadjoining veranda another sleepless watcher, gratefully breathing thefragrance of the cool, morning air; and presently two dim forms hadsoftly tiptoed to that open portal, and now stood gazing within untiltheir eyes should triumph over the uncertain light--the post commanderin his trim-fitting undress uniform, the tall and angular shape ofWren's elderly sister--the "austere vestal" herself. It may have beena mere twitch of the slim fingers under her tawny cheek that causedNatzie to lift her eyes in search of those of her hero and herprotector. Instantly her own gaze, startled, was turned straight tothe door. Then in another second she had sprung to her feet, and withfury in her face and attitude confronted the intruders. As she did sothe sudden movement detached some object that hung within the breastof her loose-fitting sack--something bright and gleaming thatclattered to the floor, falling close to the feet of the drowsingattendant, while another--a thin, circular case of soft leather, half-rolled, half-bounded toward the unwelcome visitors at the door. 

Todd, roused to instant action at sight of the post commander, bentquickly and nabbed the first. The girl herself darted after thesecond, whereat the attendant, misjudging her motive, dreading dangerto his betters or rebuke to himself, sprang upon her as she stooped, and dropping his first prize, dared to seize the Apache girl with bothhands at the throat. There was a warning cry from the bed, a flash ofsteel through one slanting ray of sunshine, a shriek from the lips ofJanet Wren, and with a stifled moan the luckless soldier sank in histracks, while Natzie, the chieftain's daughter, a dripping blade inher uplifted hand, a veritable picture of fury, stood in savagetriumph over him, her flashing eyes fixed upon the amazed commander, as though daring him, too, to lay hostile hands upon her. 

CHAPTER XXV

RESCUE REQUITED

A change had come over the spirit of Camp Sandy's dream. The garrisonthat had gone to bed the previous night, leaving Natzie silent, watchful, wistful at the post commander's door, had hardly a thoughtthat was not full of sympathy and admiration for her. Even women whocould not find it possible to speak of her probable relations withNeil Blakely dwelt much in thought and word upon her superb devotionand her generosity. That he had encouraged her passionate and almostsavage love for him there were few to doubt, whatsoever they mightfind it possible to say. That men and women both regarded her as, beyond compare, the heroic figure of the campaign there was none togainsay. Even those who could not or did not talk of her at all feltthat such was the garrison verdict. There were no men, and but fewwomen, who would have condemned the doctor's act in leading her toBlakely's bedside. Sandy had spoken of her all that wonderful eveningonly to praise. It woke to hear the first tidings of the new day, andto ask only What was the cause?--What had led to her wild, swiftvengeance? for Todd had in turn been carried to hospital, asore-stricken man. The night before Natzie was held a queen: now shewas held a captive. 

It all happened so suddenly that even Plume, who witnessed the entireincident, could not coherently explain it. Reveille was just over andthe men were going to breakfast when the major's voice was heardshouting for the guard. Graham, first man to reach the scene, hadcollided with Janet Wren, whimpering and unnerved, as he bounded intothe hallway. His first thought was that Plume's prophecy about theknifing had come true, and that Blakely was the victim. His firstsight, when his eyes could do their office in that darkened room, wasof Blakely wresting something from the grasp of the Indian girl, whosegaze was now riveted on that writhing object on the floor. 

"See to him, doctor, " he heard Blakely say, in feeble, but commandingtone. "I will see to her. " But Blakely was soon in no condition to seeto her or to anybody. The flicker of strength that came to him for asecond or two at sight of the tragedy, left him as suddenly--left himfeebler than before. He had no voice with which to protest when thestretchermen, who bore away poor Todd, were followed instantly bystout guardsmen who bore away Natzie. The dignity of the chieftain'sdaughter had vanished now. She had no knife with which to deal deathto these new and most reluctant assailants--Graham found it underBlakely's pillow, long hours later. But, with all her savage, lissomestrength she scratched and struck and struggled. It took three oftheir burliest to carry her away, and they did it with shame-hiddenfaces, while rude comrades chaffed and jeered and even shoutedlaughing encouragement to the girl, whose screams of rage had drawnall Camp Sandy to the scene. One doctor, two men, and the steward wentwith their groaning burden one way to the hospital. One officer, onesergeant, and half a dozen men had all they could do to take theirraging charge another way to the guard-house. Ah, Plume, you mighthave spared that brave girl such indignity! But, where one facefollowed the wounded man with sympathetic eyes, there were twenty thatnever turned from the Indian girl until her screams were deadened bythe prison doors. 

"She stabbed a soldier who meant her no harm, " was Plume's sullen andstubborn answer to all appeals, for good and gentle women went to him, begging permission to go to her. It angered him presently to theextent of repeating his words with needless emphasis and additionswhen Mother Shaughnessy came to make her special appeal. Shure she hadlearned how to care for these poor creatures, was her claim, along o'having little Paquita on her hands so many days, "and now that poorgirl beyant will be screaming herself into fits!"

"Let her scream, " said Plume, unstrung and shaken, "but hold you yourtongue or I'll find a separate cell for you. No woman shall be knifingmy men, and go unpunished, if I can help it, " and so saying he turnedwrathfully from her. 

"Heard you that now?" stormed Mother Shaughnessy, as he strode away. "Who but he has helped his women to go unpunished--" and the wordswere out and heard before the sergeant major could spring and silenceher. Before another day they were echoing all over the post--were ontheir way to Prescott, even, and meeting, almost at the northwardgateway, the very women the raging laundress meant. Of her own freewill Clarice Plume was once again at Sandy, bringing with her, sorelyagainst the will of either, but because a stronger will would have itso--and sent his guards to see to it--a cowed and scared andsemi-silent companion of whom much ill was spoken now about thegarrison--Elise Lebrun. 

The news threw Norah Shaughnessy nearly into spasms. "'Twas she thatknifed Pat Mullins!" she cried. "'Twas she drove poor Downs to dhrinkand desartion. 'Twas she set Carmody and Shannon to cuttin' eachother's throats"--which was news to a garrison that had seen theprocess extend no further than to each other's acquaintance. And moreand stormier words the girl went on to say concerning the commander'shousehold until Mullins himself mildly interposed. But all thesethings were being told about the garrison, from which Lola andAlchisay had fled in terror to spread the tidings that their princesswas a prisoner behind the bars. These were things that were beingtold, too, to the men of Sanders's returning troop before they werefairly unsaddled at the stables; and that night, before ever he soughthis soldier pillow, Shannon had been to "C" Troop's quarters in searchof Trooper Stern and had wrung from him all that he could tell ofCarmody's last fight on earth--of his last words to LieutenantBlakely. 

Meantime a sorely troubled man was Major Plume. That his wife wouldhave to return to Sandy he had learned from the lips of Colonel Byrnehimself. Her own good name had been involved, and could only becompletely cleared when Wren and Blakely were sufficiently recoveredto testify, and when Mullins should be so thoroughly restored as to befit for close cross-examination. Plume could in no wise connect hisbeloved wife with either the murderous assault on Mullins or themysterious firing of Blakely's quarters, but he knew that Sandy couldnot so readily acquit her, even though it might saddle the actual deedupon her instrument--Elise. He had ordered that Blakely should bebrought to his own quarters because there he could not be reached byany who were unacceptable to himself, the post commander. There weremany things he wished to know about and from Blakely's lips alone. Hecould not stoop to talk with other men about the foibles of his wife. He knew that iron box in Truman's care contained papers, letters, or_something_ of deep interest to her. He knew full well now that, atsome time in the not far distant past, Blakely himself had been ofdeep interest to her and she to Blakely. He had Blakely's last letterto himself, written just before the lonely start in quest of Angela, but that letter made no reference to the contents of the box or toanything concerning their past. He had heard that Wales Arnold hadbeen intrusted with letters for Blakely to Clarice, his wife, and toCaptain, or Miss Janet Wren. Arnold had not been entirely silent onthe subject. He did not too much like the major, and rather rejoicedin this opportunity to show his independence of him. Plume had gone sofar as to ask Arnold whether such letters had been intrusted to him, and Wales said, yes; but, now that Blakely was safely back andprobably going to pull through, he should return the letters to thewriter as soon as the writer was well enough to appreciate what wasbeing done. Last, but not least, Plume had picked up near the door inBlakely's room the circular, nearly flat, leather-covered case whichhad dropped, apparently, from Natzie's gown, and, as it had neitherlock nor latch, Plume had opened it to examine its contents. 

To his surprise it contained a beautifully executed miniature, alikeness of a fair young girl, with soft blue eyes and heavy, archingbrows, a delicately molded face and mouth and chin, all framed in atumbling mass of tawny hair. It was the face of a child of twelve orthirteen, one that he had never seen and of whom he knew nothing. Neither cover, backing, nor case of the miniature gave the faintestclew as to its original or as to its ownership. What was Natzie doingwith this?--and to whom did it belong? A little study satisfied himthere was something familiar in the face, yet he could not place it. 

The very night of her coming, therefore, he told his wife the storyand handed her the portrait. One glance was enough. "I know it, yes, "said Mrs. Plume, "though I, too, have never seen her. She died thewinter after it was taken. It is Mr. Blakely's sister, Ethel, " andMrs. Plume sat gazing at the sweet girl features, with strangeemotion in her aging face. There was something--some story--behind allthis that Plume could not fathom, and it nettled him. Perhaps he, too, was yielding to a fit of nerves. Elise, the maid, had been remanded toher room, and could be heard moving about with heavy, yet uncertaintread. "She is right over Blakely, " quoth the major impatiently. "Whycan't the girl be quiet?"

"Why did you bring him _here_, then?" was the weary answer. "I cannotcontrol Elise. They have treated her most cruelly. "

"There are things you cannot explain and that she must, " said he, andthen, to change the subject, stretched forth his hand to take againthe picture. She drew it back one moment, then, remembering, surrendered it. 

"You saw this in--St. Louis, I suppose, " said he awkwardly. He nevercould bear to refer to those days--the days before he had come intoher life. 

"Not that perhaps, but the photograph from which it was probablypainted. She was his only sister. He was educating her in the East. "And again her thoughts were drifting back to those St. Louis days, when, but for the girl sister he so loved, she and Neil Blakely hadbeen well-nigh inseparable. Someone had said then, she remembered, that she was jealous even of that love. 

And now again her husband was gazing fixedly at the portrait, a lightcoming into his lined and anxious face. Blakely had always carriedthis miniature with him, for he now remembered that the agent, Daly, had spoken of it. Natzie and others might well have seen it at thereservation. The agent's wife had often seen it and had spoken of hissorrow for the sister he had lost. The picture, she said, stood oftenon his little camp table. Every Indian who entered his tent knew itand saw it. Why, surely; Natzie, too, mused the major, and then aloud:

"I can see now what we have all been puzzling over. Angela Wren mightwell have looked like this--four years ago. "

"There is not the faintest resemblance, " said Clarice, promptly risingand quitting the room. 

It developed with another day that Mrs. Plume had no desire to seeMiss Wren, the younger. She expressed none, indeed, when policy andthe manners of good society really required it. Miss Janet had come inwith Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Sanders to call upon the wife of thecommanding officer and say what words of welcome were possible asappropriate to her return. "And Angela, " said Janet, for reasons ofher own, "will be coming later. " There was no response, nor was thereto the next tentative. The ladies thought Mrs. Plume should joinforces with them and take Natzie out of the single cell she occupied. "Can she not be locked at the hospital, under the eye of the matron, with double sentries? It is hard to think of her barred in thathideous place with Apache prisoners and rude men all about her. " Butagain was Mrs. Plume unresponsive. She would say no word of interestin either Angela or Natzie. At the moment when her husband was inmelting mood and when a hint from her lips would have secured thepartial release of the Indian girl, the hint was withheld. It wouldhave been better for her, for her husband, for more than one brave ladon guard, had the major's wife seen fit to speak, but she would not. 

So that evening brought release that, in itself, brought much reliefto the commanding officer and the friends who still stood by him. 

Thirty-six hours now had Natzie been a prisoner behind the bars, andno one of those we know had seen her face. At tattoo the drums andfifes began their sweet, old-fashioned soldier tunes. The guard turnedout; the officer of the day buckled his belt with a sigh and startedforth to inspect, just as the foremost soldiers appeared on the porchin front, buttoning their coats and adjusting their belts and slings. Half their number began to form ranks; the other half "stood by, "within the main room, to pass out the prisoners, many of whom wore aclanking chain. All on a sudden there arose a wild clamor--shouts, scuffling, the thunder of iron upon resounding woodwork, hoarseorders, curses, shrieks, a yell for help, a shot, a mad scurry of manyfeet, furious cries of "Head 'em off!" "Shoot!" "No, no, don't shoot!You'll kill our own!" A dim cloud of ghostly, shadowy forms wenttearing away down the slope toward the south. There followed atremendous rush of troop after troop, company after company, --thewhole force of Camp Sandy in uproarious pursuit, --until in the dimstarlight the barren flats below the post, the willow patches alongthe stream, the plashing waters of the ford, the still and glassysurface of the shadowy pool, were speedily all alive with dark anddarting forms intermingled in odd confusion. From the eastward side, from officers' row, Plume and his white-coated subordinates hastenedto the southward face, realizing instantly what must haveoccurred--the long-prophesied rush of Apache prisoners for freedom. Yet how hopeless, how mad, how utterly absurd was the effort! Whatearthly chance had they--poor, manacled, shackled, ball-burdenedwretches--to escape from two hundred fleet-footed, unhampered, stalwart young soldiery, rejoicing really in the fun and excitement ofthe thing? One after another the shackled fugitives were run down andoverhauled, some not half across the parade, some in the shadows ofthe office and storehouses, some down among the shrubbery toward thelighted store, some among the shanties of Sudsville, some, lightestweighted of all, far away as the lower pool, and so one after another, the grimy, sullen, swarthy lot were slowly lugged back to the unsavoryprecincts wherein, for long weeks and months, they had slept orstealthily communed through the hours of the night. Three or four hadbeen cut or slashed. Three or four soldiers had serious hurts, scratches or bruises as their fruits of the affray. But after all, themalefactors, miscreants, and incorrigibles of the Apache tribe hadprofited little by their wild and defiant essay--profited little, thatis, if personal freedom was what they sought. 

But was it? said wise heads of the garrison, as they looked thesituation over. Shannon and some of his ilk were doing muchindependent trailing by aid of their lanterns. Taps should have beensounded at ten, but wasn't by any means, for "lights out" was the lastthing to be thought of. Little by little it dawned upon Plume and hissupporters that, instead of scattering, as Indian tactics demanded onall previous exploits of the kind, there had been one grand, concertedrush to the southward--planned, doubtless, for the purpose of drawingthe whole garrison thither in pursuit, while three pairs of moccasinedfeet slipped swiftly around to the rear of the guard-house, out beyondthe dim corrals, and around to a point back of "C" Troop stables, where other little hoofs had been impatiently tossing up the sandsuntil suddenly loosed and sent bounding away to where the North Starhung low over the sheeny white mantle of San Francisco mountain. Natzie, the girl queen, was gone from the guard-house: Punch, the LadyAngela's pet pony, was gone from the corral, and who would say therehad not been collusion?

"One thing is certain, " said the grave-faced post commander, as, withhis officers, he left the knot of troopers and troopers' wiveshovering late about the guard-house, "one thing is certain; withWren's own troopers hot on the heels of Angela's pony we'll have ourApache princess back, sure as the morning sun. "

"Like hell!" said Mother Shaughnessy. 

CHAPTER XXVI

"WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE"

More morning suns than could be counted in the field of the flag hadcome, and gone, but not a sign of Natzie. Wren's own troopers, hot onPunch's flashing heels, were cooling their own as best they couldthrough the arid days that followed. Wren himself was now recoveredsufficiently to be told of much that had been going on, --not all, --andit was Angela who constantly hovered about him, for Janet was taking aneeded rest. Blakely, too, was on the mend, sitting up hours of everyday and "being very lovely" in manner to all the Sanders household, for thither had he demanded to be moved even sooner than it wasprudent to move him at all. Go he would, and Graham had to order it. Pat Mullins was once again "for duty. " Even Todd, the bewilderedvictim of Natzie's knife, was stretching his legs on the hospitalporch. There had come a lull in all martial proceedings at the post, and only two sensations. One of these latter was the formalinvestigation by the inspector general of the conditions surroundingthe stabbing at Camp Sandy of Privates Mullins and Todd of the ----thU. S. Cavalry. The other was the discovery, one bright, brilliant, winter morning that Natzie's friend and savior, Angela's Punch, wasback in his stall, looking every bit as saucy and "fit" as ever he didin his life. What surprised many folk in the garrison was that itsurprised Angela not at all. "I thought Punch would come back, " saidshe, in demure unconcern, and the girls at least, began to understand, and were wild to question. Only Kate Sanders, however, knew howwelcome was the pet pony's coming. But what had come that was far fromwelcome was a coldness between Angela and Kate Sanders. 

Byrne himself had arrived, and the "inquisition" had begun. Noexaminations under oath, no laborious recordings of question andanswer, no crowd of curious listeners. The veteran inspector took eachman in turn and heard his tale and jotted down his notes, and, wherehe thought it wise, cross-questioned over and again. One afteranother, Truman and Todd, Wren and Mullins, told their stories, bringing forth little that was new beyond the fact that Todd was sureit was Elise he heard that night "jabbering with Downs" on Blakely'sporch. Todd felt sure that it was she who brought him whisky, andByrne let him prattle on. It was not evidence, yet it might lead theway to light. In like manner was Mullins sure now "'Twas two ladies"stabbed him when he would have striven to stop the foremost. Byrneasked did he think they were ladies when first he set eyes on them, and Pat owned up that he thought it was some of the girls fromSudsville; it might even be Norah as one of them, coming home latefrom the laundresses' quarters, and trying to play him a trick. Heowned to it that he grabbed the foremost, seeing at that moment noother, and thinking to win the forfeit of a kiss, and Byrne gravelyassured him 'twas no shame in it, so long as Norah never found it out. 

But Byrne asked Plume two questions that puzzled and worried himgreatly. How much whisky had he missed? and how much opium could havebeen given him the night of Mrs. Plume's unconscious escapade? Themajor well remembered that his demijohn had grown suddenly light, andthat he had found himself surprisingly heavy, dull, and drowsy. Theretrospect added to his gloom and depression. Byrne had not reoccupiedhis old room at Plume's, now that madame and Elise were once moreunder the major's roof, and even in extending the customaryinvitation, Plume felt confident that Byrne could not and should notaccept. The position he had taken with regard to Elise, her ladyship'scompanion and confidante, was sufficient in itself to make him, in theeyes of that lady, an unacceptable guest, but it never occurred toher, although it had to Plume, that there might be even deeperreasons. Then, too, the relations between the commander and theinspector, although each was scrupulously courteous, were nownecessarily strained. Plume could not but feel that his conduct ofpost affairs was in a measure a matter of scrutiny. He knew that histreatment of Natzie was disapproved by nine out of ten of his command. He felt, rather than knew, that some of his people had connived at herescape, and though that escape had been a relief to everybody atSandy, the manner of her taking off was to him a mystery and arankling sore. 

Last man to be examined was Blakely, and now indeed there was light. He had been sitting up each day for several hours; his wounds werehealing well; the fever and prostration that ensued had left him weakand very thin and pale, but he had the soldier's best medicine--theconsciousness of duties thoroughly and well performed. He knew that, though Wren might carry his personal antipathy to the extent ofofficial injustice, as officers higher in rank than Wren have beenknown to do, the truth concerning the recent campaign must come tolight, and his connection therewith be made a matter of record, as itwas already a matter of fact. Wren had not yet submitted his writtenreport. Wren and the post commander were still on terms severelyofficial; but, to the few brother officers with whom the captaintalked at all upon the stirring events through which he and his troophad so recently passed, he had made little mention of Blakely. Not so, however, the men; not so Wales Arnold, the ranchman. To hear theseworthies talk, the Bugologist, next to "Princess Natzie, " was thecentral figure of the Red Rock campaign--the one officer, "where allhad done so well, " whose deeds merited conspicuous mention. Byrne knewthis better than Wren. Plume knew it not as well as Byrne, perhaps. Sanders, Lynn, and Duane had heard the soldier stories in a dozenways, and it stung them that their regimental comrade should sodoggedly refuse to open his lips and give Blakely his due. It is notsilence that usually hurts a man, it is speech; yet here was a case tothe contrary. 

Now just in proportion as the Wrens would have nothing to say inpraise of Blakely, the Sanders household would have nothing _but_praise to say. Kate's honest heart was hot with anger at Angela, because the girl shrank from the subject as she would from evilspeaking, lying, and slandering, and here again, to paraphrase theIrishman, too much heat had produced the coldness already referred to. Sanders scoffed at the idea of Natzie's infatuation being sufficientground for family ostracism. "If there is a man alive who owes morethan Wren does to Blakely, I'm a crab, " said he, "and as soon as he'swell enough to listen to straight talk he'll get it from me. " "Ifthere's a girl in America as heartless as Angela Wren, " said Mrs. Sanders, "I hope I never shall have to meet her. " But then Mrs. Sanders, as we know, had ever been jealous of Angela on account of herown true-hearted Kate, who refused to say one word on the subjectbeyond what she said to Angela herself. And now they had propped theirpatient in his reclining-chair and arranged the little table for "theinquisitor general, " as Mrs. Bridger preferred to refer to him, andleft them alone together behind closed doors, and had then gone forthto find that all Camp Sandy seemed to wait with bated breath for theoutcome of that interview. 

Sooner than was believed possible it came. An hour, probably, beforethey thought the colonel could have gathered all he wished to know, that officer was on the front piazza and sending an orderly to theadjutant's office. Then came Major Plume, with quick and nervous step. There was a two-minute conference on the piazza; then both officersvanished within, were gone five minutes, and then Plume reappearedalone, went straight to his home, and slammed the door behind him, asolecism rarely known at Sandy, and presently on the hot and pulselessair there arose the sound of shrill protestation in strangevernacular. Even Wren heard the voice, and found something reminiscentin the sound of weeping and wailing that followed. The performer wasunquestionably Elise--she that had won the ponderous, yet descriptive, Indian name "Woman-Walk-in-the-Night. "

And while this episode was still unexpired the orderly went forLieutenant Truman, and Truman, with two orderlies, for a box, a bulkylittle chest, strapped heavily with iron, and this they lugged intoSanders's hall and came out heated and mystified. Three hours later, close-veiled and in droopy desolation, "Mademoiselle Lebrun" wasbundled into a waiting ambulance and started under sufficient escort, and the care of the hospital matron, _en route_ for Prescott, whileDr. Graham was summoned to attend Mrs. Plume, and grimly went. "Themean part of the whole business, " said Mrs. Bridger, "is that nobodyknows _what_ it means. " There was no one along the line, except poorMrs. Plume, to regret that sudden and enforced departure, but therewas regret universal all over the post when it was learned, stilllater in the afternoon, that one of the best soldiers and sergeantsin the entire garrison had taken the horse of one of the herd guardand galloped away on the trail of the banished one. Sergeant Shannon, at sunset parade, was reported absent without leave. 

Major Plume had come forth from his quarters at the sounding of theretreat, accurately dressed as ever, white-gloved, and wearing hissaber. He seemed to realize that all eyes would be upon him. He had, indeed, been tempted again to turn over the command to the seniorcaptain, but wisely thought better of it, and determined to face themusic. He looked very sad and gray, however. He returned scrupulouslythe salute of the four company commanders as, in turn, each cameforward to report the result of the evening roll-call; Cutler andWestervelt first, their companies being the nearest, then LieutenantLynn, temporarily in charge of Wren's troop, its captain and firstlieutenant being still "on sick report. " The sight of this youngofficer set the major to thinking of that evening not so many moonsagone when Captain Wren himself appeared and in resonant, far-carryingtone announced "Lieutenant Blakely, sir, is absent. " He had beenthinking much of Blakely through the solemn afternoon, as he wanderednervously about his darkened quarters, sometimes tiptoeing to thebedside of his feebly moaning, petulant wife, sometimes pacing thelibrary and hall. He had been again for half an hour closeted withByrne and the Bugologist, certain letters being under inspection. Hehardly heard the young officer, Lynn, as he said "Troop 'C, ' allpresent, sir. " He was looking beyond him at Captain Sanders, comingstriding over the barren parade, with import in his eye. Plume feltthat there was trouble ahead before ever Sanders reached theprescribed six paces, halted, raised his hand in salute, and, just asdid Wren on that earlier occasion, announced in tones intended to beheard over and beyond the post commander: "Sergeant Shannon, sir, withone government horse, absent without leave. "

Plume went a shade white, and bit his lips before he could steadyhimself to question. Well he knew that this new devilment was due insome way to that spirit of evil so long harbored by his wife, andsuffered by himself. All the story of the strife she had stirred inthe garrison had reached him days before. Downs's drunkenness anddesertion, beyond doubt, were chargeable to her, as well as anotherand worse crime, unless all indications were at fault. Then there wasthe breach between Carmody and Shannon, formerly stanch friends andcomrades, and now Carmody lay buried beneath the rocks in Bear Cañon, and Shannon, as gallant and useful a sergeant as ever served, hadthrown to the winds his record of the past and his hopes for thefuture, and gone in mad pursuit of a worthless hoyden. And all becauseClarice would have that woman with her wherever she might go. 

"When did this happen?" he presently asked. 

"Just after stable call, sir. The horses were all returned to thecorral except the herd guard's. The men marched over, as usual, withtheir halters. Shannon fell out as they entered the gate, took youngBennett's rein as he stood ready to lead in after them, mounted androde round back of the wall, leaving Bennett so surprised that hedidn't know what to say. He never suspected anything wrong untilShannon failed to reappear. Then he followed round back of the corral, found the sergeant's stable frock lying halfway out toward the bluff, and saw a streak of dust toward Bowlder Point. Then he came andreported. "

Plume, after a moment's silence, turned abruptly. He had suffered muchthat day, and to think of his wife lying stricken and whimpering, professing herself a sorely injured woman because compelled at last topart with her maid, angered him beyond the point of toleration. Tossing his saber to the China boy, he went straightway aloft, failingto note in the dim light that two soft-hearted sympathizers werecooing by the gentle sufferer's side. 

"Well, Clarice, " he broke in abruptly, "we are never to hear the endof that she-cat's doings! My best sergeant has stolen a horse and gonegalloping after her. " It is always our best we lose when our betterhalf is to blame, nor is it the way of brutal man to minimize thecalamity on such occasions. It did not better matters that hermuch-wronged ladyship should speedily reply: "It's a wonder you don'tcharge the Indian outbreak to poor Elise. I don't believe she had athing to do with your sergeant's stealing. "

"You wouldn't believe she stole my whisky and gave it to Downs, thoughyou admitted she told you she had to go back that night for somethingshe'd dropped. You wouldn't believe she married that rascally gamblerat St. Louis before her first husband was out of the way! You shieldedand swore by her, and brought her out here, and all the time theproofs were here in Blakely's hands. It was _she_, I suppose, whobroke off--"

But here, indeed, was it high time to break off. The visitors were nowvisibly rising in all proper embarrassment, for Mrs. Plume had startedup, with staring eyes. "Proofs!" she cried, "in Blakely's hands! Why, she told me--my own letters!--my--" And then brutal man was brought tohis senses and made to see how heartless and cruel was his conduct, for Mrs. Plume went into a fit and Mrs. Lynn for the doctor. 

That was a wild night at Sandy. Two young matrons had made up theirminds that it was shameful to leave poor Mrs. Plume without anybody tolisten to her, when she might so long for sympathetic hearers, andhave so much to tell. They had entered as soon as the major came forthand, softly tapping at the stricken one's door, had been with herbarely five minutes when he came tearing back, and all this tremendousscene occurred before they could put in a word to prevent, which, ofcourse, they were dying to do. But what _hadn't_ they heard in thatswift moment! Between the two of them--and Mrs. Bridger was theother--their agitation was such that it all had to be told. Then, likethe measles, one revelation led to another, but it was several daysbefore the garrison settled down in possession of an array of factssufficient to keep it in gossip for many a month. Meanwhile, many achange had come over the scene. 

At Prescott, then the Territorial capital, Elise Layton, _née_ Lebrun, was held without bail because it couldn't be had, charged withobtaining money under false pretenses, bigamy as a side issue, andarson as a possible backstop. The sleep-walking theory, as advanced infavor of Mrs. Plume, had been reluctantly abandoned, it appearingthat, however dazed and "doped" she may have been through thetreatment of that deft-fingered, unscrupulous maid, she wassufficiently wide awake to know well whither she had gone at thatwoman's urging, to make a last effort to recover certain letters ofvital importance. At Blakely's door Clarice had "lost her nerve" andinsisted on returning, but not so Elise. She went again, and hadwell-nigh gotten Downs drunk enough to do as she demanded. Frankly, sadly, Plume went to Blakely, told him of his wife's admissions, andasked him what papers of hers he retained. For a moment Blakely hadblazed with indignation, but Plume's sorrow, and utter innocence ofwrong intent, stilled his wrath and led to his answer: "Every letterof Mrs. Plume's I burned before she was married, and I so assured her. She herself wrote asking me to burn rather than return them, but therewere letters and papers I could not burn, brought to me by a poordevil that woman Elise had married, tricked into jail, and thendeserted. He disappeared afterward, and even Pinkerton's peoplehaven't been able to find him. Those papers are his property. You andColonel Byrne are the only men who have seen them, though they weresomewhat exposed just after the fire. She made three attempts to getme to give them up to her. Then, I believe, she strove to get Downs tosteal them, and gave him the money with which to desert and bring themto her. He couldn't get into the iron box; couldn't lug it out, andsomehow, probably, set fire to the place, scratching matches in there. Perhaps she even persuaded him to do that as a last resort. He knew Icould get out safely. At all events, he was scared out of his wits anddeserted with what he had. It was in trying to make his way eastwardby the Wingate road that there came the last of poor Ups and Downs. "

And so the story of this baleful influence over a weak, half-druggedgirl, her mistress, became known to Plume and gradually to others. Itwas easy for Elise to make her believe that, in spite of the word of agentleman, her impulsive love letters were still held by Blakelybecause he had never forgiven her. It was Elise, indeed, who hadroused her jealousy and had done her best to break that engagementwith Blakely and to lead to the match with the handsome and devotedmajor. Intrigue and lying were as the breath of the woman's nostrils. She lived in them. But Sandy was never to see her again. "Woman-Walk-in-the-Night" was "Woman-Walk-no-More. "

And now the friendless creature stood charged with more crimes thanwould fill the meager space of a Territorial jail, and yet the oneoriginally laid at her door, though never publicly announced, was nowomitted entirely--that of assault with deadly weapon, possibly withintent to kill. Even Mother Shaughnessy and Norah were silenced, andPat Mullins put to confusion. Even the latest punctured patient at thehospital, Private Todd, had to serve as evidence in behalf of Elise, for Graham, post surgeon, had calmly declared that the same weaponthat so nearly killed Pat Mullins had as nearly and neatly done thedeed for Todd--the keen Apache knife of Princess Natzie. 

"The heathen child was making her usual night visit to her whitelover, " said Wren grimly, having in mind the womanly shape he had seenthat starlit morning at Blakely's rear door. 

"You're right in one guess, R-robert Wren, " was the prompt answer ofhis friend and fellow Scot, who glared at Janet rather than hisconvalescent as he spoke. "And ye're wrang in twanty. She _was_tryin', and didn't know the way. She _was_ tryin', for she had hiswatch and pocketbook. You're wrang if ye think she was ever therebefore or after. The slut you saw cryin' at his back door was thatquean Elise, an' ye well know there was no love lost between them. Gosay yer prayers, man, for every wicked thought ye've had of him--or ofthat poor child. Between them they saved your Angela!"

CHAPTER XXVII

THE PARTING BY THE WATERS

"Some day I may tell Miss Angela--but never you, " had Mr. Blakelysaid, before setting forth on his perilous essay to find Angela'sfather, and with native tenacity Miss Wren the elder had rememberedthe words and nourished her wrath. It was strange, indeed, that Plume, an officer and a gentleman, should have bethought him of the "austerevestal" as a companion witness to Blakely's supposed iniquity; but, between these two natures, --one strong, one weak, --there had sprung upthe strange sympathy that is born of a common, deep-rooted, yetill-defined antipathy--one for which neither she nor he could yet givegood reason, and of which each was secretly ashamed. Each, for reasonsof her or his own, cordially disliked the Bugologist, and each couldnot but welcome evidence to warrant such dislike. It is human nature. Janet Wren had strong convictions that the man was immoral, if for noother reason than that he obviously sought Angela and as obviouslyavoided her. Janet had believed him capable of carrying on a _liaison_with the dame who had jilted him, and had had to see that theorycrushed. Then she would have it that, if not the mistress, he dalliedwith the maid, and when it began to transpire that virulent hatred wasthe only passion felt for him by that baffling and detestabledaughter of Belial, there came actual joy to the soul of theScotchwoman that, after all, her intuition had not been at fault. Hewas immoral as she would have him, even more so, for he had taken baseadvantage of the young and presumably innocent. She craved some proof, and Plume knew it, and, seeing her there alone in her dejection, hadbidden her come and look--with the result described. 

His own feeling toward Blakely is difficult to explain. Kind friendshad told him at St. Louis how inseparable had been Clarice and thisvery superior young officer. She had admitted to him the "flirtation, "but denied all regard for Blakely, yet Plume speedily found her moody, fitful, and unhappy, and made up his mind that Blakely was at thebottom of it. Her desire to go to far-away Arizona could have no otherexplanation. And though in no way whatever, by look, word, or deed, had Blakely transgressed the strictest rule in his bearing toward themajor's wife, both major and wife became incensed at him, --Plumebecause he believed the Bugologist still cherished a tender passionfor his wife--or she for him; Clarice, it must be owned, because sheknew well he did not. Plume sought to find a flaw in his subordinate'smoral armor to warrant the aversion that he felt, and was balked atevery turn. It was with joy almost fierce he discovered what hethought to be proof that the subaltern was no saint, and, neverstopping to give his better nature time to rise and rebuke him, he hadsummoned Janet. It was to sting Blakely, more than to punish the girl, he had ordered Natzie to the guard-room. Then, as the hours wore onand he realized how contemptible had been his conduct, the sense ofshame well-nigh crushed him, and though it galled him to think thatsome of his own kind, probably, had connived at Natzie's escape, hethanked God the girl was gone. And now having convinced herself thathere at last she had positive proof of Mr. Blakely's depravity, AuntJanet had not scrupled to bear it to Angela, with sharp and surprisingresult. A good girl, a dutiful girl, was Angela, as we have seen, butshe, too, had her share of fighting Scotch blood and a bent for revoltthat needed only a reason. For days Aunt Janet had bidden her shun theyoung man, first naming Mrs. Plume and then Elsie as the cause andcorespondent. One after another Graham had demolished thesepossibilities, to the end that even Wren was ashamed of his unworthysuspicions. Then it was Natzie who was the prey of Blakely'simmorality, and for that, Janet declared, quite as much as forstabbing the soldier, the girl had been sent to the cells. It was latein the day when she managed to find Angela away from her father, who, realizing what Natzie had done and suffered to save his own ewe lamb, was now in keen distress of mind because powerless to raise a hand toaid her. He wondered that Angela seemed so unresponsive--that she didnot flare up in protest at such degrading punishment for the girl whohad saved her life. He little knew how his daughter's heart wasburning within her. He never dreamed that she, too, wassuffering--torn by conflicting emotions. It was a sore thing to findthat in her benefactress lived an unsuspected rival. 

Just before sunset she had left him and gone to her room to change herdress for the evening, and Janet's first swoop was upon her brother. Once before during the exciting day she had had a moment to herselfand him. She had so constantly fanned the flame of his belief inBlakely's gallantries as even to throttle the sense of gratitude hefelt, and, in spite of herself, that she felt for that officer'sdaring and successful services during the campaign. She felt, and hefelt, that they must disapprove of Blakely--must stamp out any nascentregard that Angela might cherish for him, and to this end would neverin her presence admit that he had been instrumental in the rescue ofhis captain, much less his captain's daughter. Hurriedly Janet hadtold him what she and Plume had seen, and left him to ponder over it. Now she came to induce him to bid her tell it all to Angela. "Nowthat, that other--affair--seems disproved, " said she, "she'll bethinking there's no reason why she shouldn't be thinking of him, " anddejectedly the Scotchman bade her do as seemed best. Women, hereasoned, could better read each other's hearts. 

And so Janet had gone and had thought to shock, and had mostimpressively detailed what she had witnessed--I fear me Janet scruplednot to embroider a bit, so much is permissible to the "unco guid" whenso very much is at stake. And Angela went on brushing out herbeautiful hair without a sign of emotion. To the scandal of Scotchmaidenhood she seemed unimpressed by the depravity of the pair. To thesurprise of Aunt Janet she heard her without interruption to theuttermost word, and then--wished to know if Aunt Janet thought themajor would let her send Natzie something for supper. 

Whatever the girl may have thought of this new and possiblecomplication, she determined that no soul should read that it cost hera pang. She declined to discuss it. She did what she had not donebefore that day--went forth in search of Kate Sanders. Aunt Janet wasastonished that her niece should wish to send food to that--thattrollop. What would she have thought could she have heard what passeda few moments later? In the dusk and the gloaming Kate Sanders was inconversation on the side veranda with a tall sergeant of her father'stroop. "Ask her?" Kate was saying. "Of course I'll ask her. Why, hereshe comes now!" Will it be believed that Sergeant Shannon wished MissAngela's permission to "take Punch out for a little exercise, " a thinghe had never ventured to ask before, and that Angela Wren eagerlysaid, "Yes. " Poor Shannon! He did not know that night how soon hewould be borrowing a horse on his own account, nor that two bravegirls would nearly cry their eyes out over it, when they were barelyon speaking terms. 

Of him there came sad news but the day after his crack-brained, Quixotic essay. Infatuated with Elise, and believing in her promise tomarry him, he had placed his savings in her hands, even as had Downsand Carmody. He had heard the story of her visiting Blakely by night, and scouted it. He heard, in a maze of astonishment, that she wasbeing sent to Prescott under guard for delivery to the civilauthorities, and taking the first horse he could lay hands on, hegalloped in chase. He had overtaken the ambulance on Cherry Creek, andwith moving tears she had besought him to save her. Faithful to theirtrust, the guard had to interpose, but, late at night, they reachedStemmer's ranch; were met there by a relief guard sent down by CaptainStout; and the big sergeant who came in charge, with specialinstructions from Stout's own lips, was a new king who knew notJoseph, and who sternly bade Shannon keep his distance. Hot wordsfollowed, for the trooper sergeant would stand no hectoring from anequal in rank. Shannon's heart was already lost, and now he lost hishead. He struck a fellow-sergeant who stood charged with an importantduty, and even his own comrades could not interpose when theinfantrymen threw themselves upon the raging Irish soldier andhammered him hard before they could subdue and bind him, but bind himthey did. Sadly the trooper guard went back to Sandy, bringing the"borrowed" horse and the bad news that Shannon had been arrested forassaulting Sergeant Bull, and all men knew that court-martial anddisgrace must follow. It was Shannon's last run on the road he knew sowell. Soldiers of rank came forward to plead for him and bear witnessto his worth and services, and the general commanding remitted most ofthe sentence, restoring to him everything the court had decreedforfeited except the chevrons. They had to go, yet could soon beregained. But no man could restore to him the pride and self-respectthat went when he realized that he was only one of several plucked anddeluded victims of a female sharper. While the Frenchwoman ogled andlanguished behind the bars, Shannon wandered out into the world again, a deserter from the troop he was ashamed to face, an unfollowed, unsought fugitive among the mining camps in the Sierras. "Three stoutsoldiers stricken from the rolls--two of them gone to their lastaccount, " mused poor Plume, as at last he led his unhappy wife away tothe sea, "and all the work of one woman!"

Yes, Mrs. Plume was gone now for good and all, her devoted, yetsore-hearted major with her, and Wren was sufficiently recovered to beup and taking the air on his veranda, where Sanders sometimes stoppedto see him, and "pass the time of day, " but cut his visits short andspoke of everything but what was uppermost in his mind, because hisbetter half persuaded him that only ill would come from preaching. Then, late one wonderful day, the interesting invalid, Mr. NeilBlakely himself, was "paraded" upon the piazza in the Sanders'sspecial reclining-chair, and Kate and Mrs. Sanders beamed, whilenearly all society at the post came and purred and congratulated andtook sidelong glances up the row to where Angela but a while beforewas reading to her grim old father, but where the father now readalone, for Angela had gone, as was her custom at the hour, to her ownlittle room, and thither did Janet conceive it her duty to follow, and there to investigate. 

"It won't be long now before that young man will be hobbling aroundthe post, I suppose. How do you expect to avoid him?" said the eldermaiden, looking with uncompromising austerity at her niece. Angela asbefore had just shaken loose her wealth of billowy tresses and wascarefully brushing them. She did not turn from the contemplation ofher double in the mirror before her; she did not hesitate in herreply. It was brief, calm, and to the point. 

"I shall not avoid him. "

"Angela! And after all I--your father and I--have told you!" And AuntJanet began to bristle. 

"Two-thirds of what you told me, Aunt Janet, proved to be withoutfoundation. Now I doubt--the rest of it. " And Aunt Janet saw the bigeyes beginning to fill; saw the twitching at the corners of the soft, sensitive lips; saw the trembling of the slender, white hand, and theominous tapping of the slender, shapely foot, but there wasn't asymptom of fear or flinching. The blood of the Wrens was up forbattle. The child was a woman grown. The day of revolt had come atlast. 

"Angela Wr-r-ren!" rolled Aunt Janet. "D'you mean you're going to_see_ him?--speak to him?"

"I'm going to see him and--thank him, Aunt Janet. " And now the girlhad turned and faced the astounded woman at the door. "You may spareyourself any words upon the subject. "

The captain was seated in loneliness and mental perturbation justwhere Angela had left him, but no longer pretending to read. His backwas toward the southern end of the row. He had not even seen the causeof the impromptu reception at the Sanders's. He read what was takingplace when Angela began to lose her voice, to stumble over her words;and, peering at her under his bushy eyebrows, he saw that the face heloved was flushing, that her young bosom was swiftly rising andfalling, the beautiful brown eyes wandering from the page. Even beforethe glad voices from below came ringing to his ears, he read in hisdaughter's face the tumult in her guileless heart, and then shesuddenly caught herself and hurried back to the words that seemedswimming in space before her. But the effort was vain. Rising quickly, and with brave effort steadying her voice, she said, "I'll run anddress now, father, dear, " and was gone, leaving him to face theproblem thrust upon him. Had he known that Janet, too, had heard fromthe covert of the screened and shaded window of the little parlor, andthen that she had followed, he would have shouted for his German"striker" and sent a mandate to his sister that she could not fail tounderstand. He did not know that she had been with Angela until heheard her footstep and saw her face at the hall doorway. She had noteven to roll her r's before the story was told. 

Two days now he had lived in much distress of mind. Before quittingthe post Major Plume had laboriously gone the rounds, saying good-byto every officer and lady. Two officers he had asked to seealone--the captain and first lieutenant of Troop "C. " Janet knew ofthis, and should have known it meant amende and reconciliation, perhaps revelation, but because her brother saw fit to sit and ponder, she saw fit to cling unflinchingly to her preconceived ideas and toact according to them. With Graham she was exceeding wroth for daringto defend such persons as Lieutenant Blakely and "that Indian squaw. "It was akin to opposing weak-minded theories to positive knowledge offacts. She had seen with her own eyes the ignorant, but no lessabandoned, creature kneeling at Blakely's bedside, her black headpillowed close to his breast. She had seen her spring up in fury atbeing caught--what else could have so enraged her that she should seekto knife the intruders? argued Janet. She believed, or professed tobelieve, that but for the vigilance of poor Todd, now quite happy inhis convalescence, the young savage would have murdered both the majorand herself. She did not care what Dr. Graham said. She had seen, andseeing, with Janet, was believing. 

But she knew her brother well, and knew that since Graham's impetuousoutbreak he had been wavering sadly, and since Plume's parting visithad been plunged in a mental slough of doubt and distress. Once beforehis stubborn Scotch nature had had to strike its colors and surrenderto his own subaltern, and now the same struggle was on again, for whatPlume said, and said in presence of grim old Graham, fairly startledhim:

"You are not the only one to whom I owe amende and apology, CaptainWren. I wronged you, when you were shielding--my wife--at no littlecost to yourself. I wronged Blakely in several ways, and I have had togo and tell him so and beg his pardon. The meanest thing I ever didwas bringing Miss Wren in there to spy on him, unless it was insending that girl to the guard-house. I'd beg her pardon, too, if shecould be found. Yes, I see you look glum, Wren, but we've all beenwrong, I reckon. There's no mystery about it now. "

And then Plume told his tale and Wren meekly listened. It might wellbe, said he, that Natzie loved Blakely. All her people did. She hadbeen watching him from the willows as he slept that day at the pool. He had forbidden her following him, forbidden her coming to the post, and she feared to wake him, yet when she saw the two prospectors, thathad been at Hart's, ride over toward the sleeping officer she wasstartled. She saw them watching, whispering together. Then they rodedown and tied their horses among the trees a hundred yards below, andcame crouching along the bank. She was up in an instant and over thestream at the shallows, and that scared them off long enough to lether reach him. Even then she dare not wake him for fear of his angerat her disobedience, but his coat was open, his watch and wallet easyto take. She quickly seized them--the little picture-case being withinthe wallet at the moment--and sped back to her covert. Then Angela hadcome cantering down the sandy road; had gone on down stream, passingeven the prowling prospectors, and after a few minutes had returnedand dismounted among the willows above where Blakely lay--Angela whompoor Natzie believed to be Blakely's sister. Natzie supposed herlooking for her brother, and wondered why she waited. Natzie finallysignaled and pointed when she saw that Angela was going indisappointment at not finding him. Natzie witnessed Angela's theft ofthe net and her laughing ride away. By this time the prospectors hadgiven up and gone about their business, and then, while she waswondering how best to restore the property, Lola and Alchisay had comewith the annoying news that the agent was angered and had senttrailers after her. They were even then only a little way up stream. The three then made a run for the rocks to the east, and thereremained in hiding. That night Natzie had done her best to find herway to Blakely with the property, and the rest they knew. The watchwas dropped in the struggle on the _mesa_ when Mullins was stabbed, the picture-case that morning at the major's quarters. 

"Was it Blakely told you all this, sir?" Wren had asked, stillwrong-headed and suspicious. 

"No, Wren. It was I told Blakely. All this was given me by Lola'sfather, the interpreter, back from Chevlon's Fork only yesterday. Isent him to try to persuade Natzie and her kinsfolk to return. I havepromised them immunity. "

Then Plume and Graham had gone, leaving Wren to brood and ponder, andthis had he been doing two mortal days and nights without definiteresult, and now came Janet to bring things to a head. In grim andominous silence he listened to her recital, saying never a word untilher final appeal:

"R-r-robert, is our girlie going daft, do you think? She solemnly saidto me--to me--but a minute ago, 'I mean to go to him myself--and thankhim!'"

And solemnly the soldier looked up from his reclining-chair andstudied his sister's amazed and anxious face. Then he took her thin, white hand between his own thin, brown paws and patted it gently. Sherecoiled slowly as she saw contrition, not condemnation, in hisblinking eyes. 

"God forgive us all, Janet! It's what I ought to have done days ago. "

 * * * * *

Another cloudless afternoon had come, and, under the willows at theedge of the pool, a young girl sat daydreaming, though the day wasnearly done. All in the valley was wrapped in shadow, though thecliffs and turrets across the stream were resplendent in a radiance ofslanting sunshine. Not a whisper of breeze stirred the droopingfoliage along the sandy shores, or ruffled the liquid mirror surface. Not a sound, save drowsy hum of beetle or soft murmur of ripplingwaters among the pebbly shadows below, broke the vast silence of thescene. Just where Angela was seated that October day on which ourstory opened, she was seated now, with the greyhounds stretchedsprawling in the warm sands at her feet, with Punch blinking lazilyand switching his long tail in the thick of the willows. 

And somebody else was there, close at hand. The shadows of thewestward heights had gradually risen to the crest of the rocky cliffsacross the stream. A soft, prolonged call of distant trumpet summonedhomeward for the coming night the scattered herds and herd guards ofthe post, and, rising suddenly, her hand upon a swift-throbbing heart, her red lips parted in eagerness or excitement uncontrollable, Angelastood intently listening. Over among the thickets across the pool thevoice of an Indian girl was uplifted in some weird, uncanny song. Thevoice was shrill, yet not unmusical. The song was savage, yet notlacking some crude harmony. She could not see the singer, but sheknew. Natzie's people had returned to the agency, accepting the olivebranch that Plume had tendered them--Natzie herself was here. 

At the first sound of the uplifted voice an Apache boy, crouching inthe shrubbery at the edge of the pool, rose quickly to his feet, and, swift and noiseless, stole away into the thicket. If he thought toconceal himself or his purpose his caution was needless. Angelaneither saw nor heard him. Neither was it the song nor the singer thatnow arrested her attention. So still was the air, so deep was thesilence of nature, that even on such sandy roads and bridlepaths astraversed the winding valley, the faintest hoof-beat was carried far. Another horse, another rider, was quickly coming. Tonto, the big houndnearest her, lifted his shapely head and listened a moment, then wentbounding away through the willows, followed swiftly by his mate. Theyknew the hoof-beats, and joyously ran to meet and welcome the rider. Angela knew them quite as well, but could neither run to meet, norcould she fly. 

Only twice, as yet, had she opportunity to see or to thank NeilBlakely, and a week had passed since her straightforward challenge toAunt Janet. As soon as he could walk unaided, save by his stick, Wrenhad gone stumping down the line to Sanders's quarters and asked forMr. Blakely, with whom he had an uninterrupted talk of half an hour. Within two days thereafter Mr. Blakely in person returned the call, being received with awful state and solemnity by Miss Wren herself. Angela, summoned by her father's voice, came flitting down a momentlater, and there in the little army parlor, where first she had soughtto "entertain" him until the captain should appear, our Angela wasonce again brought face to face with him who had meanwhile risked hislife in the effort to rescue her father, and again in the effort tofind and rescue her. A fine blush mantled her winsome face as sheentered, and, without a glance at Janet, went straightway to theirvisitor, with extended hand. 

"I am so glad to see you again, Mr. Blakely, " she bravely began. "Ihave--so much--to thank you--" but her brown eyes fell before the firein the blue and her whole being thrilled at the fervor of hishandclasp. She drew her hand away, the color mounting higher, thensnuggled to her father's side with intent to take his arm; but, realizing suddenly how her own was trembling, grasped instead the backof a chair. Blakely was saying something, she knew not what, nor couldshe ever recall much that anyone said during the brief ten minutes ofhis stay, for there sat Aunt Janet, bolt upright, after the fashion offifty years gone by, a formidable picture indeed, and Angela wonderedthat anyone could say anything at all. 

Next time they met she was riding home and he sat on the south verandawith Mrs. Sanders and Kate. She would have ridden by with just a nodand smile; but, at sight of her, he "hobbled" down the steps and camehurriedly out to speak, whereupon Mrs. Sanders, who knew much better, followed to "help him, " as she said. "Help, indeed!" quoth angry Kate, usually most dutiful of daughters. "You'd only hinder!" But even thatpresence had not stopped his saying: "The doctor promises I may rideHart's single-footer in a day or two, Miss Angela, and then--"

And now it was a "single-footer" coming, the only one at Sandy. Ofcourse it might be Hart, not Blakely, and yet Blakely had seen her asshe rode away. It was Blakely's voice--how seldom she had heard, yethow well she knew it! answering the joyous welcome of the hounds. Itwas Blakely who came riding straight in among the willows, a radiancein his thin and lately pallid face--Blakely who quickly, yetawkwardly, dismounted, for it still caused him pain, and then, forgetful of his horse, came instantly to her as she stood there, smiling, yet tremulous. The hand that sought hers fairly shook, butthat, said Angela, though she well knew better, might have been fromweakness or from riding. For a moment he did not speak. It was she whobegan. She thought he should know at once. 

"Did you--hear her singing--too?" she hazarded. 

"Hear?--Who?" he replied, grudgingly letting go the hand because itpulled with such determination. 

"Why--Natzie, I suppose. At least--I haven't seen her, " she stammered, her cheeks all crimson now. 

"Natzie, indeed!" he answered, in surprise, turning slowly andstudying the opposite willows. "It is only a day or two since theycame in. I thought she'd soon be down. " Obviously her coming causedhim neither embarrassment nor concern. "She still has a notecase ofmine. I suppose you heard?" And his clear blue eyes were fastened onher lovely, downcast face. 

"Something. Not much, " she answered, drawing back a little, for hestood so close to her she could have heard the beating of hisheart--but for her own. All was silence over there in the oppositewillows, but so it was the day Natzie had so suddenly appeared fromnowhere, and he saw the hurried glance she sent across the pool. 

"Has she worried you?" he began, "has she been--" spying, he was goingto say, and she knew it, and grew redder still with vexation. Natziecould claim at least that she was not without a shining example hadshe come there to spy, but Blakely had that to say to her thatdeserved undivided attention, and there is a time when even one'spreserver and greatest benefactor may be _de trop_. 

"Will you wait--one moment?" he suddenly asked. "I'll go to the rocksyonder and call her, " and then, almost as suddenly, the voice wasagain uplifted in the same weird, barbaric song, and the singer hadgone from the depths of the opposite thicket and was somewhere fartherup stream, still hidden from their gaze--still, possibly, ignorant ofAngela's presence. The brown eyes were at the moment following thetall, white form, moving slowly through the winding, faintly-wornpathway toward the upper shallows where, like stepping stones, the bigrocks stretched from shore to shore, and she was startled to note thatthe moment the song began he stopped short a second or two, listenedintently, then almost sprang forward in his haste to reach thecrossing. Another minute and he was out of sight among the shrubbery. Another, and she heard the single shot of a revolver, and there hestood at the rocky point, a smoking pistol in his hand. Instantly thesong ceased, and then his voice was uplifted, calling, "Natzie!Natzie!" With breathless interest Angela gazed and, presently, partingthe shrubbery with her little brown hands, the Indian girl steppedforth into the light and stood in silence, her great black eyes fixedmournfully upon him. Could this be their mountain princess--thedaring, the resolute, the commanding? Could this be the fierce, lissome, panther-like creature before whose blow two of their stoutestmen had fallen? There was dejection inexpressible in her veryattitude. There was no longer bravery or adornment in her dress. Therewas no more of queen--of chieftain's daughter--in this downcast childof the desert. 

He called again, "Natzie, " and held forth his hand. Her head haddrooped upon her breast, but, once again, she looked upon him, andthen, with one slow, hesitant, backward glance about her, steppedforward, her little, moccasined feet flitting from rock to rock acrossthe murmuring shallows until she stood before him. Then he spoke, butshe only shook her head and let it droop again, her hands passivelyclasping. He knew too little of her tongue to plead with her. He knew, perhaps, too little of womankind to appreciate what he was doing. Finding words useless, he gently took her hand and drew her with him, and passively she obeyed, and for a moment they disappeared fromAngela's view. Then presently the tall, white form came again insight, slowly leading the unresisting child, until, in another moment, they stepped within the little open space among the willows. At thesame instant Angela arose, and the daughter of the soldier and thedaughter of the savage, the one with timid yet hopeful welcome andgreeting in her lovely face, the other with sudden amaze, scorn, passion, and jealous fury in her burning eyes, stood a breathlessmoment confronted. Then, all in a second, with one half-stifled, inarticulate cry, Natzie wrenched her hand from that of Blakely, and, with the spring of a tigress, bounded away. Just at the edge of thepool she halted, whirled about, tore from her bosom a flat, oblongpacket and hurled it at his feet; then, with the dart of afrightened deer, drove through the northward willows. Angela saw herrun blindly up the bank, leaping thence to the rocks below, boundingfrom one to another with the wild grace of the antelope. Anotherinstant and she had reached the opposite shore, and there, tossing herarms wildly above her head, her black tresses streaming behind her, with a cry that was almost a scream, she plunged into the heart of thethicket; the stubborn branches closed behind her, and our Apache queenwas gone. As they met, so had they parted, by the waters of the pool. 

[Illustration: "NATZIE WRENCHED HER HAND FROM THAT OF BLAKELY, ANDWITH THE SPRING OF A TIGRESS BOUNDED AWAY"]

When Blakely turned again to Angela she, too, was gone. He found her alittle later, her arms twined about her pony's neck, her face buriedin his mane, and sobbing as though her heart would break. 

On a soft, starlit evening within the week, no longer weeping, butleaning on Blakely's arm, Angela stood at the edge of the bluff, looking far out over the Red Rock country to the northeast. The sentryhad reported a distant signal fire, and several of the younger peoplehad strolled out to see. Whatever it was that had caused the reporthad vanished by the time they reached the post, so, presently, KateSanders started the homeward move, and now even the sentry haddisappeared in the darkness. When Angela, too, would have returned, his arm restrained. She knew it would. She knew he had not spoken thatevening at the willows because of her tears. She knew he had beenpatient, forbearing, gentle, yet well she knew he meant now to speakand wait no longer. 

"Do you remember, " he began, "when I said that some day I should tellyou--but never your aunt--who it was that came to my quarters thatnight--and why she came?" and though she sought to remove her handfrom his arm he would not let it go. 

"You _did_ tell me, " she answered, her eyelids drooping. 

"I _did_!--when?"

Though the face was downcast, the sensitive lips began to quiver withmerriment and mischief. 

"The same day you took me for--your mother--and asked me to sing foryou. "

"Angela!" he cried, in amaze, and turning quickly toward her, "Whatcan you mean?"

"Just what I say. You began as though I were your sister, then yourmother. I think, perhaps, if we'd had another hour together it wouldhave been grandmother. " She was shaking with suppressed laughter now, or was it violent trembling, for his heart, like hers, was bounding. 

"I must indeed have been delirious, " he answered now, not laughing, not even smiling. He had possessed himself of that other hand, despiteits fluttering effort. His voice was deep and grave and tremulous. "Icalled you anything but what I most longed to call you--what I prayGod I may call you, Angela--my wife!"

L'ENVOI

There was a wedding at Sandy that winter when Pat Mullins took hisdischarge, and his land warrant, and a claim up the Beaver, and NorahShaughnessy to wife. There was another, many a mile from Sandy, whenthe May blossoms were showering in the orchard of a fair old homesteadin the distant East, and then Neil Blakely took his bride to see "theland of the leal" after the little peep at the lands that now sheshared with him. There is one room in the beautiful old Colonialmansion that they soon learned to call "father's, " in anticipation ofthe time when he should retire and come to hang the old saber on theolder mantel and spend his declining years with them. There isanother, sacred to Aunt Janet, where she was often welcomed, a womanlong since reconciled to Angela's once "obnoxious, " but ever devotedadmirer. There were some points in which Aunt Janet suffered sore. Shehad views of her own upon the rearing and management of children, andthese views she did at first oppose to those of Angela, but not forlong. In this, as in her choice of a husband, Angela had to read herdeclaration of independence to the elder woman. 

There is another room filled with relics of their frontierdays, --Indian weapons, blankets, beadwork, --and among these, in asort of shrine of its own, there hangs a portrait made by a famousartist from a little tintype, taken by some wandering photographerabout the old Apache reservation. Wren wrote them, ere the regimentleft Arizona, that she who had been their rescuer, and then so longdisappeared, finally wedded a young brave of the Chiricahua band andwent with him to Mexico. That portrait is the only relic they have ofa never forgotten benefactress--Natzie, their Apache Princess. 

THE END. 

 * * * * *

A DAUGHTER _of the_ SIOUX

By GENERAL CHARLES KING

A Tale of the Indian Frontier

Illustrations by Frederic Remington and Edwin Willard Deming

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SOME PRESS NOTES

The Chicago Daily News

 A stronger story than any he has written for many years. 

The Philadelphia Item

 A genuinely delightful tale, clean, wholesome, thoroughly enjoyable.... 

The Baltimore American

 Is full of interest, and equals, if not surpasses, his best previous efforts. 

The Portland (Me. ) Press

 This captivating novel is quite perfect of its kind and there is not one dull line from start to finish. 

The Burlington Hawkeye

 Is one of General King's best works and withal a most entertaining and fascinating story of army life. 

The San Francisco Chronicle

 The story is full of life and movement, and all the details of army life are described with that perfect knowledge which carries conviction to the reader. 

The Cleveland Leader

 It is the strongest and most entertaining story he has written for many a day.... It gets a grip on the reader in the first chapters and holds it to the end. 

The World, New York City

 A soldier's story told with a soldier's swing.... Is capitally illustrated and has a particularly handsome and tasteful cover portrait of the heroine in colors. 

The Pittsburg Leader

 There is a naturalness about the story that makes it of decided interest, and every one who reads it will lay the book down with a feeling of regret that the end has been reached so soon. 

The Minneapolis Tribune

 Is the best piece of work General King has given his admiring public in a long time. Is full of incident and romance, and its central theme contains a dramatic power worthy of subject and author. 

The Literary World

 To General King we are deeply indebted for much information concerning family life at fort and trading post. In these days of the problem novel and the yellow journal, it is a mental pleasure and a moral profit to read of men who are in love with their own wives, of women who adore their own husbands. 

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