An Apache Princess

"What do you make of it all?" queried Plume.

"Something's wrang at the reservation," answered Graham. "There mostly

is. Daly thinks there's running to and fro between the Tontos in the

Sierra Ancha country and his wards above here. He thinks there's more

out than there should be--and more a-going. What'd you find, Daly?" he

added, as the agent joined them, mechanically wiping his brow.

Moisture there was none. It evaporated fast as the pores exuded.

"They know well enough, damn them!" said the new official. "But they

think I can be stood off. I'll nail 'em yet--to-morrow," he added.

"But could you send a scout at once to the Tonto basin?" and Daly

turned eagerly to the post commander.

Plume reflected. Whom could he send? Men there were in plenty,

dry-rotting at the post for lack of something to limber their joints;

but officers to lead? There was the rub! Thirty troopers, twenty

Apache Mohave guides, a pack train and one or, at most, two officers

made up the usual complement of such expeditions. Men, mounts, scouts,

mules and packers, all, were there at his behest; but, with Wren in

arrest, Sanders and Lynn back but a week from a long prod through the

Black Mesa country far as Fort Apache, Blakely invalided and Duane a

boy second lieutenant, his choice of cavalry officers was limited. It

never occurred to him to look beyond.

"What's the immediate need of a scout?" said he.

"To break up the traffic that's going on--and the rancherias they must

have somewhere down there. If we don't, I'll not answer for another

month." Daly might be new to the neighborhood, but not to the

business.

"I'll confer with Colonel Byrne," answered Plume guardedly. And Byrne

was waiting for them, a tall, dark shadow in the black depths of the

piazza. Graham would have edged away and gone to his own den, but

Plume held to him. There was something he needed to say, yet could not

until the agent had retired. Daly saw,--perhaps he had already imbibed

something of the situation,--and was not slow to seek his room. Plume

took the little kerosene lamp; hospitably led the way; made the

customary tender of a "night-cap," and polite regrets he had no ice

to offer therewith; left his unwonted guest with courteous good-night

and cast an eye aloft as he came through the hall. All there was dark

and still, though he doubted much that Graham's sedatives had yet

prevailed. He had left the two men opposite the doorway. He found them

at the south end of the piazza, their heads together. They

straightened up to perfunctory talk about the Medical Director, his

drastic methods and inflammable ways; but the mirth was forced, the

humor far too dry. Then silence fell. Then Plume invaded it: "How'd you find Wren--mentally?" he presently asked. He felt that an

opening of some kind was necessary.