An Apache Princess

But was it? said wise heads of the garrison, as they looked the

situation over. Shannon and some of his ilk were doing much

independent trailing by aid of their lanterns. Taps should have been

sounded at ten, but wasn't by any means, for "lights out" was the last

thing to be thought of. Little by little it dawned upon Plume and his

supporters that, instead of scattering, as Indian tactics demanded on

all previous exploits of the kind, there had been one grand, concerted

rush to the southward--planned, doubtless, for the purpose of drawing

the whole garrison thither in pursuit, while three pairs of moccasined

feet slipped swiftly around to the rear of the guard-house, out beyond

the dim corrals, and around to a point back of "C" Troop stables,

where other little hoofs had been impatiently tossing up the sands

until suddenly loosed and sent bounding away to where the North Star

hung low over the sheeny white mantle of San Francisco mountain.

Natzie, the girl queen, was gone from the guard-house: Punch, the Lady

Angela's pet pony, was gone from the corral, and who would say there

had not been collusion?

"One thing is certain," said the grave-faced post commander, as, with

his officers, he left the knot of troopers and troopers' wives

hovering late about the guard-house, "one thing is certain; with

Wren's own troopers hot on the heels of Angela's pony we'll have our

Apache princess back, sure as the morning sun."

"Like hell!" said Mother Shaughnessy.