An Apache Princess

Another dawn and Stout and most of his men had pushed on after the

Apaches and in quest of the troop at Sunset Pass. By short stages the

soldiers left in charge were to move the wounded homeward. By noon

these latter were halted under the willows by a little stream. The

guards were busy filling canteens and watering pack mules, when the

single sentry threw his rifle to the position of "ready" and the gun

lock clicked loud. Over the stony ridge to the west, full a thousand

yards away, came a little band of riders in single file, four men in

all. Wren was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. Blakely, feverish and

excited, was wide awake. Mercifully the former never heard the first

question asked by the leading rider--Arnold, the ranchman--as he came

jogging into the noonday bivouac. Stone, sergeant commanding, had run

forward to meet and acquaint him with the condition of the rescued

men. "Got there in time then, thank God!" he cried, as wearily he

flung himself out of saddle and glanced quickly about him. There lay

Wren, senseless and still between the lashed ribs of his litter. There

lay 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 and

nibbling at the stunted herbage in the glen. "I don't see Punch," he

faltered. "Wh-where's Miss Angela?"