An Apache Princess

But Solalay had not gone without promise of further aid. Natzie's

younger brother, Alchisay, had recently come to him with a message

from her, and should be coming with another. Solalay thought he could

find the boy and send him to them to be used as a courier. Blakely's

opportune coming had cheered not a little the flagging defense, but,

not until forty-eight hours thereafter, by which time their condition

had become almost desperate and the foe almost daring, did the lithe,

big-eyed, swarthy little Apache reach them. Blakely knew him

instantly, wrote his dispatch and bade the boy go with all speed, with

the result we know. "Three more of our party are wounded," he had

written, but had not chosen to say that one of them was himself.

A solemn sight was this that met the eyes of the Bugologist, as

Carmody roused him from a fitful sleep, with the murmured words,

"Almost light, sir. They'll be on us soon as they can see." Deep in

under the overhang and close to the pool lay one poor fellow whose

swift, gasping breath told all too surely that the Indian bullet had

found fatal billet in his wasting form. It was Chalmers, a young

Southerner, driven by poverty at home and prospect of adventure abroad

to seek service in the cavalry. It was practically his first campaign,

and in all human probability his last. Consciousness had left him

hours ago, and his vagrant spirit was fast loosing every earthly bond,

and already, in fierce dreamings, at war with unseen and savage foe

over their happy hunting grounds in the great Beyond. Near him,

equally sheltered, yet further toward the dim and pallid light, lay

Wren, his strong Scotch features pinched and drawn with pain and loss

of blood and lack of food. Fever there was little left, there was so

little left for it to live upon. Weak and helpless as a child in arms

he lay, inert and silent. There was nothing he could do. Never a

quarter hour had passed since he had been forced to lie there that

some one of his devoted men had not bathed his forehead and cooled his

burning wounds with abundant flow of blessed water. Twice since his

gradual return to consciousness had he asked for Blakely, and had

bidden him sit and tell him of Sandy, asking for tidings of Angela,

and faltering painfully as he bethought himself of the last

instructions he had given. How could Blakely be supposed to know aught

of her or of the household bidden to treat him practically as a

stranger? Now, he thought it grand that the Bugologist had thrown all

consideration of peril to the wind and had hastened to their aid to

share their desperate fortunes. But Wren knew not how to tell of it.

He took courage and hope when Blakely spoke of Solalay's loyalty, of

young Alchisay's daring visit and his present mission. Apaches of his

band had been known to traverse sixty miles a day over favorable

ground, and Alchisay, even through such a labyrinth of rock, ravine,

and precipice, should not make less than thirty. Within forty-eight

hours of his start the boy ought to reach the Sandy valley, and surely

no moment would then be lost in sending troops to find and rescue

them. But four days and nights, said Blakely to himself, was the least

time in which they could reasonably hope for help, and now only the

third night had gone,--gone with their supplies of every kind. A few

hours more and the sun would be blazing in upon even the dank depths

of 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 under

shelter," were Blakely's murmured orders to the few men, even as the

first, faint breath of the dawn came floating from the broader reaches

far down the rocky gorge.