An Apache Princess

Next time they met she was riding home and he sat on the south veranda

with Mrs. Sanders and Kate. She would have ridden by with just a nod

and smile; but, at sight of her, he "hobbled" down the steps and came

hurriedly out to speak, whereupon Mrs. Sanders, who knew much better,

followed to "help him," as she said. "Help, indeed!" quoth angry Kate,

usually most dutiful of daughters. "You'd only hinder!" But even that

presence had not stopped his saying: "The doctor promises I may ride

Hart's single-footer in a day or two, Miss Angela, and then--"

And now it was a "single-footer" coming, the only one at Sandy. Of

course it might be Hart, not Blakely, and yet Blakely had seen her as

she rode away. It was Blakely's voice--how seldom she had heard, yet

how well she knew it! answering the joyous welcome of the hounds. It

was Blakely who came riding straight in among the willows, a radiance

in his thin and lately pallid face--Blakely who quickly, yet

awkwardly, dismounted, for it still caused him pain, and then,

forgetful of his horse, came instantly to her as she stood there,

smiling, yet tremulous. The hand that sought hers fairly shook, but

that, said Angela, though she well knew better, might have been from

weakness or from riding. For a moment he did not speak. It was she who

began. She thought he should know at once.

"Did you--hear her singing--too?" she hazarded.

"Hear?--Who?" he replied, grudgingly letting go the hand because it

pulled with such determination.

"Why--Natzie, I suppose. At least--I haven't seen her," she stammered,

her cheeks all crimson now.

"Natzie, indeed!" he answered, in surprise, turning slowly and

studying the opposite willows. "It is only a day or two since they

came in. I thought she'd soon be down." Obviously her coming caused

him neither embarrassment nor concern. "She still has a notecase of

mine. I suppose you heard?" And his clear blue eyes were fastened on

her lovely, downcast face.

"Something. Not much," she answered, drawing back a little, for he

stood so close to her she could have heard the beating of his

heart--but for her own. All was silence over there in the opposite

willows, but so it was the day Natzie had so suddenly appeared from

nowhere, and he saw the hurried glance she sent across the pool.

"Has she worried you?" he began, "has she been--" spying, he was going

to say, and she knew it, and grew redder still with vexation. Natzie

could claim at least that she was not without a shining example had

she come there to spy, but Blakely had that to say to her that

deserved undivided attention, and there is a time when even one's

preserver and greatest benefactor may be de trop.