An Apache Princess

A change had come over the spirit of Camp Sandy's dream. The garrison

that had gone to bed the previous night, leaving Natzie silent,

watchful, wistful at the post commander's door, had hardly a thought

that was not full of sympathy and admiration for her. Even women who

could not find it possible to speak of her probable relations with

Neil Blakely dwelt much in thought and word upon her superb devotion

and her generosity. That he had encouraged her passionate and almost

savage love for him there were few to doubt, whatsoever they might

find it possible to say. That men and women both regarded her as,

beyond compare, the heroic figure of the campaign there was none to

gainsay.

Even those who could not or did not talk of her at all felt

that such was the garrison verdict. There were no men, and but few

women, who would have condemned the doctor's act in leading her to

Blakely's bedside. Sandy had spoken of her all that wonderful evening

only to praise. It woke to hear the first tidings of the new day, and

to ask only What was the cause?--What had led to her wild, swift

vengeance? for Todd had in turn been carried to hospital, a

sore-stricken man. The night before Natzie was held a queen: now she

was held a captive.

It all happened so suddenly that even Plume, who witnessed the entire

incident, could not coherently explain it. Reveille was just over and

the men were going to breakfast when the major's voice was heard

shouting for the guard. Graham, first man to reach the scene, had

collided with Janet Wren, whimpering and unnerved, as he bounded into

the hallway. His first thought was that Plume's prophecy about the

knifing had come true, and that Blakely was the victim. His first

sight, when his eyes could do their office in that darkened room, was

of Blakely wresting something from the grasp of the Indian girl, whose

gaze was now riveted on that writhing object on the floor.

"See to him, doctor," he heard Blakely say, in feeble, but commanding

tone. "I will see to her." But Blakely was soon in no condition to see

to her or to anybody. The flicker of strength that came to him for a

second or two at sight of the tragedy, left him as suddenly--left him

feebler than before. He had no voice with which to protest when the

stretchermen, who bore away poor Todd, were followed instantly by

stout guardsmen who bore away Natzie. The dignity of the chieftain's

daughter had vanished now. She had no knife with which to deal death

to these new and most reluctant assailants--Graham found it under

Blakely's pillow, long hours later. But, with all her savage, lissome

strength she scratched and struck and struggled. It took three of

their burliest to carry her away, and they did it with shame-hidden

faces, while rude comrades chaffed and jeered and even shouted

laughing encouragement to the girl, whose screams of rage had drawn

all Camp Sandy to the scene. One doctor, two men, and the steward went

with their groaning burden one way to the hospital. One officer, one

sergeant, and half a dozen men had all they could do to take their

raging charge another way to the guard-house. Ah, Plume, you might

have spared that brave girl such indignity! But, where one face

followed the wounded man with sympathetic eyes, there were twenty that

never turned from the Indian girl until her screams were deadened by

the prison doors.