An Apache Princess

So swift had been the succession of events since the first day of the

week, few of the social set at Sandy could quite realize, much less

fathom, all that had happened, and as they gathered on the verandas,

in the cool of the evening after Daly's funeral, the trend of talk was

all one way. A man who might have thrown light on certain matters at

issue had been spirited away, and there were women quite ready to vow

it was done simply to get him beyond range of their questioning.

Sergeant Shannon had been sent to the agency on some mission

prescribed by Colonel Byrne. It was almost the last order issued by

Major Plume before turning over the command.

Byrne himself still lingered at the post, "watching the situation," as

it was understood, and in constant telegraphic correspondence with the

general at Prescott and the commander of the little guard over the

agency buildings at the reservation--Lieutenant Bridger, of the

Infantry. With a sergeant and twenty men that young officer had been

dispatched to that point immediately after the alarming and

unlooked-for catastrophe of the reveille outbreak. Catastrophe was

what Byrne called it, and he meant what he said, not so much because

it had cost the life of Daly, the agent, whose mistaken zeal had

precipitated the whole misunderstanding, but rather because of the

death of two such prominent young warriors as "Shield" and his friend,

who had fallen after dealing the fatal blow to him who had laid

violent hands, so they regarded it, on two young girls, one a

chieftain's daughter and both objects of reverent and savagely

sentimental interest. "If war doesn't come at once," said Byrne, "it

will be because the Apache has a new sense or a deep-laid scheme. Look

out for him."

No news as yet had come from the runners sent forth in search of the

scattered fugitives, who would soon be flocking together again in the

fastnesses of the Mogollon to the east or the Red Rock country

northward--the latter probably, as being nearer their friends at the

reservation and farther from the few renegade Tontos lurking in the

mountains toward Fort Apache. Byrne's promise to the wanderers, sent

by these runners, was to the effect that they would be safe from any

prosecution if they would return at once to the agency and report

themselves to the interpreter and the lieutenant commanding the guard.

He would not, he said, be answerable for what might happen if they

persisted in remaining at large. But when it was found that, so far

from any coming in, there were many going out, and that Natzie's

father and brother had already gone, Byrne's stout heart sank. The

message came by wire from the agency not long after the return of the

funeral party, and while the evening was yet young. He sent at once

for Wren, and, seated on the major's front piazza, with an orderly

hovering just out of earshot, and with many an eye anxiously watching

them along the row, the two veterans were holding earnest conference.

Major Plume was at the bedside of his wife, so said Graham when he

came down about eight. Mrs. Plume, he continued, was at least no

worse, but very nervous. Then he took himself back to the hospital.