An Apache Princess

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 a

mile behind the post, at whose summit twinkled a tiny star, a single

lantern, telling of the vigil of Plume's watchers. If Stout made even

fair time he should have reached the picacho at dusk, and now it was

nearly nine and not a glimmer of fire had been seen at the appointed

rendezvous. Nine passed and 9.15, and at 9.30 the fifes and drums of

the Eighth turned out and began the long, weird complaint of the

tattoo. Nobody wished to go to bed. Why not sound reveille and let

them sit up all night, if they chose? It was far better than tossing

sleepless 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 Sandy

started to its feet. All on a sudden the spark at the lookout bluff

began violently to dance, and a dozen men tore out of garrison, eager

to hear the news. They were met halfway by a sprinting corporal, whom

they halted with eager demand for his news. "Two blazes!" he panted,

"two! I must get in to the major at once!" Five minutes more the

Assembly, not Taps, was sounding. Plume was sending forth his fifty

rescuers, and with them, impatient for tidings from the far front,

went Byrne, the major himself following as soon as he could change to

riding dress. The last seen of the little command was the glinting of

the starlight on the gun barrels as they forded the rippling stream

and 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 still

unresponsive. Nothing had been heard from the linesmen and their

escort, indicating that the break was probably far over as the Agua

Fria. Not a sign, except Stout's signal blazes at the picacho, had

been 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 forty

men of the fighting force. It was believed that Stout's couriers would

make the homeward run, very nearly, by the route the pack-train took

throughout the day, and if they succeeded in evading hostile scouts or

parties, would soon appear about some of the breaks of the upper

Beaver. Thither, therefore, with all possible speed Plume had directed

his men, promising Mrs. Sanders, as he rode away, that the moment a

runner was encountered he would send a light rider at the gallop, on

his own good horse--that not a moment should be lost in bearing them

the news.