An Apache Princess

Somebody came with a short ladder, and in another moment three or four

adventurous spirits, led by Blakely and Truman, were scrambling about

the veranda roof, their hands and faces glowing in the gathering heat,

spreading blankets over the shingling and cornice. In five minutes all

that was left of Blakely's little homestead was gone up in smoke and

fierce, furious heat and flame, but the daring and well-directed

effort of the garrison had saved the rest of the line. In ten minutes

nothing but a heap of glowing beams and embers, within four crumbling

walls of adobe, remained of the "beetle shop." Bugs, butterflies,

books, chests, desk, trunks, furniture, papers, and such martial

paraphernalia as a subaltern might require in that desert land, had

been reduced to ashes before their owner's eyes. He had not saved so

much as a shoe. His watch, lying on the table by his bedside, a silk

handkerchief, and a little scrap of a note, written in girlish hand

and carried temporarily in the breast pocket, were the only items he

had managed to bring with him into the open air. He was still gasping,

gagging, half-strangling, when Captain Cutler accosted him to know if

he could give the faintest explanation of the starting of so strange

and perilous a fire, and Blakely, remembering the stealthy footsteps

and that locked or bolted door, could not but say he believed it

incendiary, yet could think of no possible motive.

It was daybreak as the little group of spectators, women and children

of the garrison, began to break up and return to their homes, all

talking excitedly, all intolerant of the experiences of others, and

centered solely in the narrative of their own. Leaving a dozen men

with buckets, readily filled from the acequia which turned the old

water wheel just across the post of No. 4, and sending the big water

wagon down to the stream for another liquid load, the infantry went

back to their barracks and early coffee. The drenched blankets, one by

one, were stripped from the gable end of Truman's quarters, every

square inch of the paint thereon being now a patch of tiny blisters,

and there, as the dawn broadened and the pallid light took on again a

tinge of rose, the officers gathered about Blakely in his scorched and

soaked pyjamas, extending both condolence and congratulation.

"The question is, Blakely," remarked Captain Westervelt dryly, "will

you go to Frisco to refit now, or wait till Congress reimburses?"

whereat the scientist was observed to smile somewhat ruefully. "The

question is, Bugs," burst in young Doty irrepressibly, "will you wear

this rig, or Apache full dress, when you ride after Wren? The runners

start at six," whereat even the rueful smile was observed to vanish,

and without answer Blakely turned away, stepping gingerly into the

heated sand with his bare white feet.