An Apache Princess

Cutler was now desirous of questioning Blakely at length, and

obtaining his views and theories as to Downs, for Cutler believed that

Blakely had certain well-defined views which he was keeping to

himself. Between these two, however, had grown an unbridgeable gulf.

Dr. Graham had declared at eight o'clock that morning that Mr. Blakely

was still so weak that he ought not to go with the searching parties,

and on receipt of this dictum Captain Cutler had issued his, to wit,

that Blakely should not go either in search of Downs or in pursuit of

Captain Wren. It stung Blakely and angered him even against Graham,

steeling him against the post commander. Each of these gentlemen

begged him to make his temporary home under his roof, and Blakely

would not. "Major Plume's quarters are now vacant, then," said Cutler

to Graham. "If he won't come to you or to me, let him take a room

there." This, too, Blakely refused. He reddened, what is more, at the

suggestion. He sent Nixon down to Mr. Hart's, the trader's, to ask if

he could occupy a spare room there, and when Hart said, yes, most

certainly, Cutler reddened in turn when told of it, and sent

Lieutenant Doty, the adjutant, to say that the post commander could

not "consent to an officer's occupying quarters outside the garrison

when there was abundant room within." Then came Truman and Westervelt

to beg Blakely to come to them. Then came a note from Mrs. Sanders,

reminding him that, as an officer of the cavalry, it would be casting

reflections on his own corps to go and dwell with aliens. "Captain

Sanders would never forgive me," said she, "if you did not take our

spare room. Indeed, I shall feel far safer with a man in the house now

that we are having fires and Indian out-breaks and prisoners escaping

and all that sort of thing. Do come, Mr. Blakely." And in that blue

flannel shirt and the trooper trousers and bandanna neckerchief,

Blakely went and thanked her; sent for Nixon and his saddle-bags, and

with such patience as was possible settled down forthwith. Truth to

tell it was high time he settled somewhere, for excitement, exposure,

physical ill, and mental torment had told upon him severely. At

sunset, as he seemed too miserable to leave his room and come to the

dining table, Mrs. Sanders sent for the doctor, and reluctantly

Blakely let him in.

That evening, just after tattoo had sounded, Kate Sanders and Angela

were having murmured conference on the Wrens' veranda. Aunt Janet had

gone to hospital to carry unimpeachable jelly to the several patients

and dubious words of cheer. Jelly they absorbed with much avidity and

her words with meek resignation. Mullins, she thought, after his

dreadful experience and close touch with death, must be in receptive

mood and repentant of his sins. Of just what sins to repent poor Pat

might still be unsettled in his mind. It was sufficient that he had

them, as all soldiers must have, said Miss Wren, and now that his

brain seemed clearing and the fever gone and he was too weak and

helpless to resist, the time seemed ripe for the sowing of good seed,

and Janet went to sow.