An Apache Princess

At the first faint flush of dawn the little train of pack mules, with

the rations for the beleaguered command at Sunset Pass, was started on

its stony path. Once out of the valley of the Beaver it must clamber

over range after range and stumble through deep and tortuous cañons. A

road there was--the old trail by Snow Lake, thence through the famous

Pass and the Sunset crossing of the Colorado Chiquito to old Fort

Wingate.

It wormed its way out of the valley of the broader stream

some miles further to the north and in face of the Red Rock country to

the northeast, but it had not been traveled in safety for a year. Both

Byrne and Plume believed it beset with peril, watched from ambush by

invisible foes who could be relied upon to lurk in hiding until the

train was within easy range, then, with sudden volley, to pick off the

officers and prominent sergeants and, in the inevitable confusion,

aided by their goatlike agility, to make good their escape. Thirty

sturdy soldiers of the infantry under a veteran captain marched as

escort, with Plume's orders to push through to the relief of Sergeant

Brewster's command, and to send back Indian runners with full account

of the situation.

The relief of Wren's company accomplished, the next

thing was to be a search for Wren himself, then a determined effort to

find Blakely, and all the time to keep a lookout for Sanders's troop

that must be somewhere north of Chevlon's Fork, as well as for the two

or three little columns that should be breaking their way through the

unblazed wilderness, under the personal direction of the general

himself. Captain Stout and his party were out of sight up the Beaver

before the red eye of the morning came peering over the jagged heights

to the east, and looking in upon a garrison whose eyes were equally

red and bleary through lack of sleep--a garrison worn and haggard

through anxiety and distress gravely augmented by the events of the

night. All Sandy had been up and astir within five minutes after Norah

Shaughnessy's startling cry, and all Sandy asked with bated breath the

same question: How on earth happened it that this wounded waif of the

Apaches, this unknown Indian girl, dropped senseless at their doorway

in the dead hours of the night, should have in her possession the very

scarf worn by Mrs. Plume's nurse-companion, the Frenchwoman Elise, as

she came forth with her mistress to drive away from Sandy, as was her

hope, forever.

Prominent among those who had hastened down to Sudsville, after the

news of this discovery had gone buzzing through the line of officers'

quarters, was Janet Wren. Kate Sanders was staying with Angela, for

the girls seemed to find comfort in each other's presence and society.

Both had roused at sound of the clamor and were up and half dressed

when a passing hospital attendant hurriedly shouted to Miss Wren the

tidings. The girls, too, would have gone, but Aunt Janet sternly bade

them remain indoors. She would investigate, she said, and bring them

all information.