An Apache Princess

But midnight came without a sign. Long before that hour, as though by

common impulse, almost all the women of the garrison had gathered

about Truman's quarters, now the northernmost of the row and in plain

view of the confluence of the Sandy and the Beaver. Dr. Graham, who

had been swinging to and fro between the limits of the Shaughnessys'

and the hospital, stopped to speak with them a moment and gently drew

Angela to one side. His grave and rugged face was sweet in its

tenderness as he looked down into her brimming eyes. "Can you not be

content at home, my child?" he murmured. "You seem like one of my own

bairns, Angela, now that your brave father is afield, and I want to

have his bonnie daughter looking her best against the home-coming.

Surely Aunt Janet will bring you the news the moment any comes, and

I'll bid Kate Sanders bide with you!"

No, she would not--she could not go home. Like every other soul in all

Camp Sandy she seemed to long to be just there. Some few had even gone

out further, beyond the sentries, to the point of the low bluff, and

there, chatting only in whispers, huddled together, listening in

anxiety inexpressible for the muffled sound of galloping hoofs on soft

and sandy shore. No, she dare not, for within the four walls of that

little white room what dreams and visions had the girl not seen? and,

wakening shuddering, had clung to faithful Kate and sobbed her heart

out in those clasping, tender, loyal arms. No beauty, indeed, was

Kate, as even her fond mother ruefully admitted, but there was that in

her great, gentle, unselfish heart that made her beloved by one and

all. Yet Kate had pleaded with Angela in vain. Some strange, forceful

mood had seized the girl and steeled and strengthened her against even

Janet Wren's authority. She would not leave the little band of

watchers. She was there when, toward half-past twelve, at last the

message came. Plume's own horse came tearing through the flood, and

panting, reeking, trembling into their midst, and his rider, little

Fifer Lanigan, of Company "C," sprang from saddle and thrust his

dispatch into Truman's outstretched hand.

With women and children crowding about him, and men running to the

scene from every side, by the light of a lantern held in a soldier's

shaking 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.