An Apache Princess

"Watch here, Stern, but keep under cover," cried Blakely. "I'll see to

the captain. Listen for any shot or sound, but hold your fire," and

then he turned to his barely conscious senior and spoke to him as he

would 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 of

reviving strength. "Lie still just a moment or two, Wren," he murmured

soothingly. "Lie still. Somebody's coming. The troop is not far off.

You'll soon have help and home and--Angela"--even then his tongue

faltered at her name. And Wren heard and with eager eyes questioned

imploringly. The quivering lips repeated huskily the name of the child

he 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 he

turned. "You were speaking of Elise and the fire--of Downs, sergeant

----" His words were slow and clear and distinct, for the soldier had

drifted 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 to

Elise?" He thought the name might rouse him, and it did. A feeble hand

was uplifted, just an inch or two. The eyelids slowly fluttered, and

the dim, almost lifeless eyes looked pathetically up into those of the

young commander. There was a moment of almost breathless silence,

broken only by a faint moan from Wren's tortured lips and the childish

whimpering of that other--the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier.

"Elise," came the whisper, barely audible, as Carmody strove to lift his

head, "she--promised"--but the head sank back on Blakely's knee. Stern

was shouting at the stone gate--shouting and springing to his feet and

swinging his old scouting hat and gazing wildly down the cañon. "For

God's sake hush, man!" cried the lieutenant. "I must hear Carmody." But

Stern was past further shouting now. Sinking on his knees, he was

sobbing aloud. Scrambling out into the daylight of the opening, but

still shrinking within its shelter, the half-crazed, half-broken soldier

stood stretching forth his arms and calling wild words down the echoing

gorge, where sounds of shouting, lusty-lunged, and a ringing order or

two, and then the clamor of carbine shots, told of the coming of rescue

and new life and hope, and food and friends, and still Blakely knelt and

circled that dying head with the one arm left him, and pleaded and

besought--even commanded. But never again would word or order stir the

soldier's willing pulse. The sergeant and his story had drifted

together beyond the veil, and Blakely, slowly rising, found the lighted

entrance swimming dizzily about him, first level and then up-ended;

found himself sinking, whither he neither knew nor cared; found the

cañon filling with many voices, the sound of hurrying feet and then of

many rushing waters, and then--how was it that all was dark without the

cave, and lighted--lantern-lighted--here within? They had had no

lantern, no candle. Here were both, and here was a familiar face--old

Heartburn's--bending reassuringly over Wren, and someone was ----. Why,

where was Carmody? Gone! And but a moment ago that dying head was there

on his knee, and then it was daylight, too, and now--why, it must be

after nightfall, else why these lanterns? And then old Heartburn came

bending over him in turn, and then came a rejoiceful word: "Hello, Bugs! Well, it is high time you woke up! Here, take a swig

of this!"