An Apache Princess

Instantly they divided forces to search for her. Gorges and cañons

innumerable seamed the westward face of this wild spur of the Sierras,

and, by the merest luck in the world, one of Arnold's men, spurring

along a stony ridge, caught sight of a girlish form far across a deep

ravine, and quickly fired two shots in signal that he had "sighted"

the chase. It brought Arnold and two of his men to the spot and,

threading their way, sometimes afoot and leading their steeds,

sometimes in saddle and urging them through the labyrinth of bowlders,

they followed on. At noon they had lost not only all sight of her, but

of their comrades, nor had they seen the latter since. Byrne and his

orderlies, with three of the party that "pulled out" from Sandy with

Arnold in the morning, had disappeared. Again and again they fired

their Henrys, hoping for answering signal, or perhaps to attract

Angela's attention. All doubt as to her purpose was now ended. Mad she

might be, but determined she was, and had deliberately dodged past

them at the Beaver, fearing opposition to her project. At two,

moreover, they found that she could "trail" as well as they, for among

the stunted cedars at the crest of a steep divide, they found the

print of the stout brogans worn by their infantry comrades, and, down

among the rocks of the next ravine, crushed bits of hardtack by a

"tank" in the hillside. She had stopped there long enough at least to

water Punch, then pushed on again.

Once more they saw her, not three miles ahead at four o'clock, just

entering a little clump of pines at the top of a steep acclivity. They

fired their rifles and shouted loud in hopes of halting her, but all

to no purpose. Night came down and compelled them to bivouac. They

built a big fire to guide the wanderers, but morning broke without

sign of them; so on they went, for now, away from the rocks the trail

was often distinct, and once again they found the pony hoof-prints and

thanked God. At seven by Arnold's watch, among the breaks across a

steep divide they found another tank, more crumbs, a grain sack with

some scattered barley, more hardtack and the last trace of Angela.

Arnold's hand shook, as did his voice, as he drew forth a little

fluttering ribbon--the "snood" poor Wren so loved to see binding his

child's luxuriant hair.

They reasoned she had stopped here to feed and water her pony, and had

probably bathed her face and flung loose her hair and forgotten later

the binding ribbon. They believed she had followed on after Stout's

hard-marching company. It was easy to trail. They counted on finding

her when they found her father, and now here lay Wren unconscious of

her loss, and Blakely, realizing it all--cruelly, feverishly realizing

it--yet so weakened by his wounds as to be almost powerless to march

or mount and go in search of her.