An Apache Princess

"Major Plume presents his compliments--and this letter, sir,"

stammered the youth, blushing, too, at sight of Angela, beaming on him

from the parlor door. "And--you're in command, sir. The major has gone

on sick report."

That evening a solemn cortège filed away down the winding road to

the northward flats and took the route to the little cemetery, almost

all the garrison following to the grave all that was mortal of the

hapless agent. Byrne, returned from the agency, was there to represent

the general commanding the department. Wren stalked solemnly beside

him as commander of the post. Even the women followed, tripping

daintily through the sand. Graham watched them from the porch of the

post hospital. He could not long leave Mullins, tossing in fever and

delirium. He had but recently left Lieutenant Blakely, sitting up and

placidly busying himself in patching butterfly wings, and Blakely had

even come to the front door to look at the distant gathering of

decorous mourners. But the bandaged head was withdrawn as two tall,

feminine forms came gravely up the row, one so prim and almost

antique, the other so lithe and lissome. He retreated to the front

room, and with the one available eye at the veiled window, followed

her, the latter, until the white flowing skirt was swept from the

field of his vision. He had stood but a few hours previous on the spot

where he had received that furious blow five nights before, and this

time, with cordial grasp, had taken the huge hand that dealt it

between his white and slender palms. "Forgive us our trespasses as we

forgive those," Wren had murmured, as he read the deeply regretful

words of his late accuser and commander, for had not he in his turn,

and without delay, also to eat humble pie? There was something almost

pathetic in the attitude of the big soldier as he came to the darkened

room and stood before his junior and subordinate, but the latter had

stilled the broken, clumsy, faltering words with which this strong,

masterful man was striving to make amend for bitter wrong. "I won't

listen to more, Captain Wren," he said. "You had reasons I never

dreamed of--then. Our eyes have been opened" (one of his was still

closed). "You have said more than enough. Let us start afresh

now--with better understanding."

"It--it is generous in you, Blakely. I misjudged

everything--everybody, and now,--well, you know there are still

Hotspurs in the service. I'm thinking some man may be ass enough to

say you got a blow without resenting--"

Blakely smiled, a contorted and disunited smile, perhaps, and one much

trammeled by adhesive plaster. Yet there was placid unconcern in the

visible lines of his pale face. "I think I shall know how to answer,"

said he. And so for the day, and without mention of the name uppermost

in the thoughts of each, the two had parted--for the first time as

friends.