An Apache Princess

More morning suns than could be counted in the field of the flag had

come, and gone, but not a sign of Natzie. Wren's own troopers, hot on

Punch's flashing heels, were cooling their own as best they could

through the arid days that followed. Wren himself was now recovered

sufficiently to be told of much that had been going on,--not all,--and

it was Angela who constantly hovered about him, for Janet was taking a

needed rest. Blakely, too, was on the mend, sitting up hours of every

day and "being very lovely" in manner to all the Sanders household,

for thither had he demanded to be moved even sooner than it was

prudent to move him at all. Go he would, and Graham had to order it.

Pat Mullins was once again "for duty." Even Todd, the bewildered

victim of Natzie's knife, was stretching his legs on the hospital

porch.

There had come a lull in all martial proceedings at the post,

and only two sensations. One of these latter was the formal

investigation by the inspector general of the conditions surrounding

the stabbing at Camp Sandy of Privates Mullins and Todd of the ----th

U. S. Cavalry. The other was the discovery, one bright, brilliant,

winter morning that Natzie's friend and savior, Angela's Punch, was

back in his stall, looking every bit as saucy and "fit" as ever he did

in his life. What surprised many folk in the garrison was that it

surprised Angela not at all. "I thought Punch would come back," said

she, in demure unconcern, and the girls at least, began to understand,

and were wild to question. Only Kate Sanders, however, knew how

welcome was the pet pony's coming. But what had come that was far from

welcome was a coldness between Angela and Kate Sanders.

Byrne himself had arrived, and the "inquisition" had begun. No

examinations under oath, no laborious recordings of question and

answer, no crowd of curious listeners. The veteran inspector took each

man in turn and heard his tale and jotted down his notes, and, where

he thought it wise, cross-questioned over and again. One after

another, Truman and Todd, Wren and Mullins, told their stories,

bringing forth little that was new beyond the fact that Todd was sure

it was Elise he heard that night "jabbering with Downs" on Blakely's

porch. Todd felt sure that it was she who brought him whisky, and

Byrne let him prattle on. It was not evidence, yet it might lead the

way to light. In like manner was Mullins sure now "'Twas two ladies"

stabbed him when he would have striven to stop the foremost. Byrne

asked did he think they were ladies when first he set eyes on them,

and Pat owned up that he thought it was some of the girls from

Sudsville; it might even be Norah as one of them, coming home late

from the laundresses' quarters, and trying to play him a trick. He

owned to it that he grabbed the foremost, seeing at that moment no

other, and thinking to win the forfeit of a kiss, and Byrne gravely

assured him 'twas no shame in it, so long as Norah never found it out.