by Charles King
CHAPTER XXVII
THE PARTING BY THE WATERS
"Some day I may tell Miss Angela--but never you," had Mr. Blakelysaid, before setting forth on his perilous essay to find Angela'sfather, and with native tenacity Miss Wren the elder had rememberedthe words and nourished her wrath. It was strange, indeed, that Plume,an officer and a gentleman, should have bethought him of the "austerevestal" as a companion witness to Blakely's supposed iniquity; but,between these two natures,--one strong, one weak,--there had sprung upthe strange sympathy that is born of a common, deep-rooted, yetill-defined antipathy--one for which neither she nor he could yet givegood reason, and of which each was secretly ashamed. Each, for reasonsof her or his own, cordially disliked the Bugologist, and each couldnot but welcome evidence to warrant such dislike. It is human nature.Janet Wren had strong convictions that the man was immoral, if for noother reason than that he obviously sought Angela and as obviouslyavoided her. Janet had believed him capable of carrying on a _liaison_with the dame who had jilted him, and had had to see that theorycrushed. Then she would have it that, if not the mistress, he dalliedwith the maid, and when it began to transpire that virulent hatred wasthe only passion felt for him by that baffling and detestabledaughter of Belial, there came actual joy to the soul of theScotchwoman that, after all, her intuition had not been at fault. Hewas immoral as she would have him, even more so, for he had taken baseadvantage of the young and presumably innocent. She craved some proof,and Plume knew it, and, seeing her there alone in her dejection, hadbidden her come and look--with the result described.
His own feeling toward Blakely is difficult to explain. Kind friendshad told him at St. Louis how inseparable had been Clarice and thisvery superior young officer. She had admitted to him the "flirtation,"but denied all regard for Blakely, yet Plume speedily found her moody,fitful, and unhappy, and made up his mind that Blakely was at thebottom of it. Her desire to go to far-away Arizona could have no otherexplanation. And though in no way whatever, by look, word, or deed,had Blakely transgressed the strictest rule in his bearing toward themajor's wife, both major and wife became incensed at him,--Plumebecause he believed the Bugologist still cherished a tender passionfor his wife--or she for him; Clarice, it must be owned, because sheknew well he did not. Plume sought to find a flaw in his subordinate'smoral armor to warrant the aversion that he felt, and was balked atevery turn. It was with joy almost fierce he discovered what hethought to be proof that the subaltern was no saint, and, neverstopping to give his better nature time to rise and rebuke him, he hadsummoned Janet. It was to sting Blakely, more than to punish the girl,he had ordered Natzie to the guard-room. Then, as the hours wore onand he realized how contemptible had been his conduct, the sense ofshame well-nigh crushed him, and though it galled him to think thatsome of his own kind, probably, had connived at Natzie's escape, hethanked God the girl was gone. And now having convinced herself thathere at last she had positive proof of Mr. Blakely's depravity, AuntJanet had not scrupled to bear it to Angela, with sharp and surprisingresult. A good girl, a dutiful girl, was Angela, as we have seen, butshe, too, had her share of fighting Scotch blood and a bent for revoltthat needed only a reason. For days Aunt Janet had bidden her shun theyoung man, first naming Mrs. Plume and then Elsie as the cause andcorespondent. One after another Graham had demolished thesepossibilities, to the end that even Wren was ashamed of his unworthysuspicions. Then it was Natzie who was the prey of Blakely'simmorality, and for that, Janet declared, quite as much as forstabbing the soldier, the girl had been sent to the cells. It was latein the day when she managed to find Angela away from her father, who,realizing what Natzie had done and suffered to save his own ewe lamb,was now in keen distress of mind because powerless to raise a hand toaid her. He wondered that Angela seemed so unresponsive--that she didnot flare up in protest at such degrading punishment for the girl whohad saved her life. He little knew how his daughter's heart wasburning within her. He never dreamed that she, too, wassuffering--torn by conflicting emotions. It was a sore thing to findthat in her benefactress lived an unsuspected rival.
Just before sunset she had left him and gone to her room to change herdress for the evening, and Janet's first swoop was upon her brother.Once before during the exciting day she had had a moment to herselfand him. She had so constantly fanned the flame of his belief inBlakely's gallantries as even to throttle the sense of gratitude hefelt, and, in spite of herself, that she felt for that officer'sdaring and successful services during the campaign. She felt, and hefelt, that they must disapprove of Blakely--must stamp out any nascentregard that Angela might cherish for him, and to this end would neverin her presence admit that he had been instrumental in the rescue ofhis captain, much less his captain's daughter. Hurriedly Janet hadtold him what she and Plume had seen, and left him to ponder over it.Now she came to induce him to bid her tell it all to Angela. "Nowthat, that other--affair--seems disproved," said she, "she'll bethinking there's no reason why she shouldn't be thinking of him," anddejectedly the Scotchman bade her do as seemed best. Women, hereasoned, could better read each other's hearts.
And so Janet had gone and had thought to shock, and had mostimpressively detailed what she had witnessed--I fear me Janet scruplednot to embroider a bit, so much is permissible to the "unco guid" whenso very much is at stake. And Angela went on brushing out herbeautiful hair without a sign of emotion. To the scandal of Scotchmaidenhood she seemed unimpressed by the depravity of the pair. To thesurprise of Aunt Janet she heard her without interruption to theuttermost word, and then--wished to know if Aunt Janet thought themajor would let her send Natzie something for supper.
Whatever the girl may have thought of this new and possiblecomplication, she determined that no soul should read that it cost hera pang. She declined to discuss it. She did what she had not donebefore that day--went forth in search of Kate Sanders. Aunt Janet wasastonished that her niece should wish to send food to that--thattrollop. What would she have thought could she have heard what passeda few moments later? In the dusk and the gloaming Kate Sanders was inconversation on the side veranda with a tall sergeant of her father'stroop. "Ask her?" Kate was saying. "Of course I'll ask her. Why, hereshe comes now!" Will it be believed that Sergeant Shannon wished MissAngela's permission to "take Punch out for a little exercise," a thinghe had never ventured to ask before, and that Angela Wren eagerlysaid, "Yes." Poor Shannon! He did not know that night how soon hewould be borrowing a horse on his own account, nor that two bravegirls would nearly cry their eyes out over it, when they were barelyon speaking terms.
Of him there came sad news but the day after his crack-brained,Quixotic essay. Infatuated with Elise, and believing in her promise tomarry him, he had placed his savings in her hands, even as had Downsand Carmody. He had heard the story of her visiting Blakely by night,and scouted it. He heard, in a maze of astonishment, that she wasbeing sent to Prescott under guard for delivery to the civilauthorities, and taking the first horse he could lay hands on, hegalloped in chase. He had overtaken the ambulance on Cherry Creek, andwith moving tears she had besought him to save her. Faithful to theirtrust, the guard had to interpose, but, late at night, they reachedStemmer's ranch; were met there by a relief guard sent down by CaptainStout; and the big sergeant who came in charge, with specialinstructions from Stout's own lips, was a new king who knew notJoseph, and who sternly bade Shannon keep his distance. Hot wordsfollowed, for the trooper sergeant would stand no hectoring from anequal in rank. Shannon's heart was already lost, and now he lost hishead. He struck a fellow-sergeant who stood charged with an importantduty, and even his own comrades could not interpose when theinfantrymen threw themselves upon the raging Irish soldier andhammered him hard before they could subdue and bind him, but bind himthey did. Sadly the trooper guard went back to Sandy, bringing the"borrowed" horse and the bad news that Shannon had been arrested forassaulting Sergeant Bull, and all men knew that court-martial anddisgrace must follow. It was Shannon's last run on the road he knew sowell. Soldiers of rank c
ame forward to plead for him and bear witnessto his worth and services, and the general commanding remitted most ofthe sentence, restoring to him everything the court had decreedforfeited except the chevrons. They had to go, yet could soon beregained. But no man could restore to him the pride and self-respectthat went when he realized that he was only one of several plucked anddeluded victims of a female sharper. While the Frenchwoman ogled andlanguished behind the bars, Shannon wandered out into the world again,a deserter from the troop he was ashamed to face, an unfollowed,unsought fugitive among the mining camps in the Sierras. "Three stoutsoldiers stricken from the rolls--two of them gone to their lastaccount," mused poor Plume, as at last he led his unhappy wife away tothe sea, "and all the work of one woman!"
Yes, Mrs. Plume was gone now for good and all, her devoted, yetsore-hearted major with her, and Wren was sufficiently recovered to beup and taking the air on his veranda, where Sanders sometimes stoppedto see him, and "pass the time of day," but cut his visits short andspoke of everything but what was uppermost in his mind, because hisbetter half persuaded him that only ill would come from preaching.Then, late one wonderful day, the interesting invalid, Mr. NeilBlakely himself, was "paraded" upon the piazza in the Sanders'sspecial reclining-chair, and Kate and Mrs. Sanders beamed, whilenearly all society at the post came and purred and congratulated andtook sidelong glances up the row to where Angela but a while beforewas reading to her grim old father, but where the father now readalone, for Angela had gone, as was her custom at the hour, to her ownlittle room, and thither did Janet conceive it her duty to follow,and there to investigate.
"It won't be long now before that young man will be hobbling aroundthe post, I suppose. How do you expect to avoid him?" said the eldermaiden, looking with uncompromising austerity at her niece. Angela asbefore had just shaken loose her wealth of billowy tresses and wascarefully brushing them. She did not turn from the contemplation ofher double in the mirror before her; she did not hesitate in herreply. It was brief, calm, and to the point.
"I shall not avoid him."
"Angela! And after all I--your father and I--have told you!" And AuntJanet began to bristle.
"Two-thirds of what you told me, Aunt Janet, proved to be withoutfoundation. Now I doubt--the rest of it." And Aunt Janet saw the bigeyes beginning to fill; saw the twitching at the corners of the soft,sensitive lips; saw the trembling of the slender, white hand, and theominous tapping of the slender, shapely foot, but there wasn't asymptom of fear or flinching. The blood of the Wrens was up forbattle. The child was a woman grown. The day of revolt had come atlast.
"Angela Wr-r-ren!" rolled Aunt Janet. "D'you mean you're going to_see_ him?--speak to him?"
"I'm going to see him and--thank him, Aunt Janet." And now the girlhad turned and faced the astounded woman at the door. "You may spareyourself any words upon the subject."
The captain was seated in loneliness and mental perturbation justwhere Angela had left him, but no longer pretending to read. His backwas toward the southern end of the row. He had not even seen the causeof the impromptu reception at the Sanders's. He read what was takingplace when Angela began to lose her voice, to stumble over her words;and, peering at her under his bushy eyebrows, he saw that the face heloved was flushing, that her young bosom was swiftly rising andfalling, the beautiful brown eyes wandering from the page. Even beforethe glad voices from below came ringing to his ears, he read in hisdaughter's face the tumult in her guileless heart, and then shesuddenly caught herself and hurried back to the words that seemedswimming in space before her. But the effort was vain. Rising quickly,and with brave effort steadying her voice, she said, "I'll run anddress now, father, dear," and was gone, leaving him to face theproblem thrust upon him. Had he known that Janet, too, had heard fromthe covert of the screened and shaded window of the little parlor, andthen that she had followed, he would have shouted for his German"striker" and sent a mandate to his sister that she could not fail tounderstand. He did not know that she had been with Angela until heheard her footstep and saw her face at the hall doorway. She had noteven to roll her r's before the story was told.
Two days now he had lived in much distress of mind. Before quittingthe post Major Plume had laboriously gone the rounds, saying good-byto every officer and lady. Two officers he had asked to seealone--the captain and first lieutenant of Troop "C." Janet knew ofthis, and should have known it meant amende and reconciliation,perhaps revelation, but because her brother saw fit to sit and ponder,she saw fit to cling unflinchingly to her preconceived ideas and toact according to them. With Graham she was exceeding wroth for daringto defend such persons as Lieutenant Blakely and "that Indian squaw."It was akin to opposing weak-minded theories to positive knowledge offacts. She had seen with her own eyes the ignorant, but no lessabandoned, creature kneeling at Blakely's bedside, her black headpillowed close to his breast. She had seen her spring up in fury atbeing caught--what else could have so enraged her that she should seekto knife the intruders? argued Janet. She believed, or professed tobelieve, that but for the vigilance of poor Todd, now quite happy inhis convalescence, the young savage would have murdered both the majorand herself. She did not care what Dr. Graham said. She had seen, andseeing, with Janet, was believing.
But she knew her brother well, and knew that since Graham's impetuousoutbreak he had been wavering sadly, and since Plume's parting visithad been plunged in a mental slough of doubt and distress. Once beforehis stubborn Scotch nature had had to strike its colors and surrenderto his own subaltern, and now the same struggle was on again, for whatPlume said, and said in presence of grim old Graham, fairly startledhim:
"You are not the only one to whom I owe amende and apology, CaptainWren. I wronged you, when you were shielding--my wife--at no littlecost to yourself. I wronged Blakely in several ways, and I have had togo and tell him so and beg his pardon. The meanest thing I ever didwas bringing Miss Wren in there to spy on him, unless it was insending that girl to the guard-house. I'd beg her pardon, too, if shecould be found. Yes, I see you look glum, Wren, but we've all beenwrong, I reckon. There's no mystery about it now."
And then Plume told his tale and Wren meekly listened. It might wellbe, said he, that Natzie loved Blakely. All her people did. She hadbeen watching him from the willows as he slept that day at the pool.He had forbidden her following him, forbidden her coming to the post,and she feared to wake him, yet when she saw the two prospectors, thathad been at Hart's, ride over toward the sleeping officer she wasstartled. She saw them watching, whispering together. Then they rodedown and tied their horses among the trees a hundred yards below, andcame crouching along the bank. She was up in an instant and over thestream at the shallows, and that scared them off long enough to lether reach him. Even then she dare not wake him for fear of his angerat her disobedience, but his coat was open, his watch and wallet easyto take. She quickly seized them--the little picture-case being withinthe wallet at the moment--and sped back to her covert. Then Angela hadcome cantering down the sandy road; had gone on down stream, passingeven the prowling prospectors, and after a few minutes had returnedand dismounted among the willows above where Blakely lay--Angela whompoor Natzie believed to be Blakely's sister. Natzie supposed herlooking for her brother, and wondered why she waited. Natzie finallysignaled and pointed when she saw that Angela was going indisappointment at not finding him. Natzie witnessed Angela's theft ofthe net and her laughing ride away. By this time the prospectors hadgiven up and gone about their business, and then, while she waswondering how best to restore the property, Lola and Alchisay had comewith the annoying news that the agent was angered and had senttrailers after her. They were even then only a little way up stream.The three then made a run for the rocks to the east, and thereremained in hiding. That night Natzie had done her best to find herway to Blakely with the property, and the rest they knew. The watchwas dropped in the struggle on the _mesa_ when Mullins was stabbed,the picture-case that morning at the major's quarters.
"Was it Blakely told you all this
, sir?" Wren had asked, stillwrong-headed and suspicious.
"No, Wren. It was I told Blakely. All this was given me by Lola'sfather, the interpreter, back from Chevlon's Fork only yesterday. Isent him to try to persuade Natzie and her kinsfolk to return. I havepromised them immunity."
Then Plume and Graham had gone, leaving Wren to brood and ponder, andthis had he been doing two mortal days and nights without definiteresult, and now came Janet to bring things to a head. In grim andominous silence he listened to her recital, saying never a word untilher final appeal:
"R-r-robert, is our girlie going daft, do you think? She solemnly saidto me--to me--but a minute ago, 'I mean to go to him myself--and thankhim!'"
And solemnly the soldier looked up from his reclining-chair andstudied his sister's amazed and anxious face. Then he took her thin,white hand between his own thin, brown paws and patted it gently. Sherecoiled slowly as she saw contrition, not condemnation, in hisblinking eyes.
"God forgive us all, Janet! It's what I ought to have done days ago."
* * * * *
Another cloudless afternoon had come, and, under the willows at theedge of the pool, a young girl sat daydreaming, though the day wasnearly done. All in the valley was wrapped in shadow, though thecliffs and turrets across the stream were resplendent in a radiance ofslanting sunshine. Not a whisper of breeze stirred the droopingfoliage along the sandy shores, or ruffled the liquid mirror surface.Not a sound, save drowsy hum of beetle or soft murmur of ripplingwaters among the pebbly shadows below, broke the vast silence of thescene. Just where Angela was seated that October day on which ourstory opened, she was seated now, with the greyhounds stretchedsprawling in the warm sands at her feet, with Punch blinking lazilyand switching his long tail in the thick of the willows.
And somebody else was there, close at hand. The shadows of thewestward heights had gradually risen to the crest of the rocky cliffsacross the stream. A soft, prolonged call of distant trumpet summonedhomeward for the coming night the scattered herds and herd guards ofthe post, and, rising suddenly, her hand upon a swift-throbbing heart,her red lips parted in eagerness or excitement uncontrollable, Angelastood intently listening. Over among the thickets across the pool thevoice of an Indian girl was uplifted in some weird, uncanny song. Thevoice was shrill, yet not unmusical. The song was savage, yet notlacking some crude harmony. She could not see the singer, but sheknew. Natzie's people had returned to the agency, accepting the olivebranch that Plume had tendered them--Natzie herself was here.
At the first sound of the uplifted voice an Apache boy, crouching inthe shrubbery at the edge of the pool, rose quickly to his feet, and,swift and noiseless, stole away into the thicket. If he thought toconceal himself or his purpose his caution was needless. Angelaneither saw nor heard him. Neither was it the song nor the singer thatnow arrested her attention. So still was the air, so deep was thesilence of nature, that even on such sandy roads and bridlepaths astraversed the winding valley, the faintest hoof-beat was carried far.Another horse, another rider, was quickly coming. Tonto, the big houndnearest her, lifted his shapely head and listened a moment, then wentbounding away through the willows, followed swiftly by his mate. Theyknew the hoof-beats, and joyously ran to meet and welcome the rider.Angela knew them quite as well, but could neither run to meet, norcould she fly.
Only twice, as yet, had she opportunity to see or to thank NeilBlakely, and a week had passed since her straightforward challenge toAunt Janet. As soon as he could walk unaided, save by his stick, Wrenhad gone stumping down the line to Sanders's quarters and asked forMr. Blakely, with whom he had an uninterrupted talk of half an hour.Within two days thereafter Mr. Blakely in person returned the call,being received with awful state and solemnity by Miss Wren herself.Angela, summoned by her father's voice, came flitting down a momentlater, and there in the little army parlor, where first she had soughtto "entertain" him until the captain should appear, our Angela wasonce again brought face to face with him who had meanwhile risked hislife in the effort to rescue her father, and again in the effort tofind and rescue her. A fine blush mantled her winsome face as sheentered, and, without a glance at Janet, went straightway to theirvisitor, with extended hand.
"I am so glad to see you again, Mr. Blakely," she bravely began. "Ihave--so much--to thank you--" but her brown eyes fell before the firein the blue and her whole being thrilled at the fervor of hishandclasp. She drew her hand away, the color mounting higher, thensnuggled to her father's side with intent to take his arm; but,realizing suddenly how her own was trembling, grasped instead the backof a chair. Blakely was saying something, she knew not what, nor couldshe ever recall much that anyone said during the brief ten minutes ofhis stay, for there sat Aunt Janet, bolt upright, after the fashion offifty years gone by, a formidable picture indeed, and Angela wonderedthat anyone could say anything at all.
Next time they met she was riding home and he sat on the south verandawith Mrs. Sanders and Kate. She would have ridden by with just a nodand smile; but, at sight of her, he "hobbled" down the steps and camehurriedly out to speak, whereupon Mrs. Sanders, who knew much better,followed to "help him," as she said. "Help, indeed!" quoth angry Kate,usually most dutiful of daughters. "You'd only hinder!" But even thatpresence had not stopped his saying: "The doctor promises I may rideHart's single-footer in a day or two, Miss Angela, and then--"
And now it was a "single-footer" coming, the only one at Sandy. Ofcourse it might be Hart, not Blakely, and yet Blakely had seen her asshe rode away. It was Blakely's voice--how seldom she had heard, yethow well she knew it! answering the joyous welcome of the hounds. Itwas Blakely who came riding straight in among the willows, a radiancein his thin and lately pallid face--Blakely who quickly, yetawkwardly, dismounted, for it still caused him pain, and then,forgetful of his horse, came instantly to her as she stood there,smiling, yet tremulous. The hand that sought hers fairly shook, butthat, said Angela, though she well knew better, might have been fromweakness or from riding. For a moment he did not speak. It was she whobegan. She thought he should know at once.
"Did you--hear her singing--too?" she hazarded.
"Hear?--Who?" he replied, grudgingly letting go the hand because itpulled with such determination.
"Why--Natzie, I suppose. At least--I haven't seen her," she stammered,her cheeks all crimson now.
"Natzie, indeed!" he answered, in surprise, turning slowly andstudying the opposite willows. "It is only a day or two since theycame in. I thought she'd soon be down." Obviously her coming causedhim neither embarrassment nor concern. "She still has a notecase ofmine. I suppose you heard?" And his clear blue eyes were fastened onher lovely, downcast face.
"Something. Not much," she answered, drawing back a little, for hestood so close to her she could have heard the beating of hisheart--but for her own. All was silence over there in the oppositewillows, but so it was the day Natzie had so suddenly appeared fromnowhere, and he saw the hurried glance she sent across the pool.
"Has she worried you?" he began, "has she been--" spying, he was goingto say, and she knew it, and grew redder still with vexation. Natziecould claim at least that she was not without a shining example hadshe come there to spy, but Blakely had that to say to her thatdeserved undivided attention, and there is a time when even one'spreserver and greatest benefactor may be _de trop_.
"Will you wait--one moment?" he suddenly asked. "I'll go to the rocksyonder and call her," and then, almost as suddenly, the voice wasagain uplifted in the same weird, barbaric song, and the singer hadgone from the depths of the opposite thicket and was somewhere fartherup stream, still hidden from their gaze--still, possibly, ignorant ofAngela's presence. The brown eyes were at the moment following thetall, white form, moving slowly through the winding, faintly-wornpathway toward the upper shallows where, like stepping stones, the bigrocks stretched from shore to shore, and she was startled to note thatthe moment the song began he stopped short a second or two, listenedintently, then almost sprang forwar
d in his haste to reach thecrossing. Another minute and he was out of sight among the shrubbery.Another, and she heard the single shot of a revolver, and there hestood at the rocky point, a smoking pistol in his hand. Instantly thesong ceased, and then his voice was uplifted, calling, "Natzie!Natzie!" With breathless interest Angela gazed and, presently, partingthe shrubbery with her little brown hands, the Indian girl steppedforth into the light and stood in silence, her great black eyes fixedmournfully upon him. Could this be their mountain princess--thedaring, the resolute, the commanding? Could this be the fierce,lissome, panther-like creature before whose blow two of their stoutestmen had fallen? There was dejection inexpressible in her veryattitude. There was no longer bravery or adornment in her dress. Therewas no more of queen--of chieftain's daughter--in this downcast childof the desert.
He called again, "Natzie," and held forth his hand. Her head haddrooped upon her breast, but, once again, she looked upon him, andthen, with one slow, hesitant, backward glance about her, steppedforward, her little, moccasined feet flitting from rock to rock acrossthe murmuring shallows until she stood before him. Then he spoke, butshe only shook her head and let it droop again, her hands passivelyclasping. He knew too little of her tongue to plead with her. He knew,perhaps, too little of womankind to appreciate what he was doing.Finding words useless, he gently took her hand and drew her with him,and passively she obeyed, and for a moment they disappeared fromAngela's view. Then presently the tall, white form came again insight, slowly leading the unresisting child, until, in another moment,they stepped within the little open space among the willows. At thesame instant Angela arose, and the daughter of the soldier and thedaughter of the savage, the one with timid yet hopeful welcome andgreeting in her lovely face, the other with sudden amaze, scorn,passion, and jealous fury in her burning eyes, stood a breathlessmoment confronted. Then, all in a second, with one half-stifled,inarticulate cry, Natzie wrenched her hand from that of Blakely, and,with the spring of a tigress, bounded away. Just at the edge of thepool she halted, whirled about, tore from her bosom a flat, oblongpacket and hurled it at his feet; then, with the dart of afrightened deer, drove through the northward willows. Angela saw herrun blindly up the bank, leaping thence to the rocks below, boundingfrom one to another with the wild grace of the antelope. Anotherinstant and she had reached the opposite shore, and there, tossing herarms wildly above her head, her black tresses streaming behind her,with a cry that was almost a scream, she plunged into the heart of thethicket; the stubborn branches closed behind her, and our Apache queenwas gone. As they met, so had they parted, by the waters of the pool.
"NATZIE WRENCHED HER HAND FROM THAT OF BLAKELY, ANDWITH THE SPRING OF A TIGRESS BOUNDED AWAY"]
When Blakely turned again to Angela she, too, was gone. He found her alittle later, her arms twined about her pony's neck, her face buriedin his mane, and sobbing as though her heart would break.
On a soft, starlit evening within the week, no longer weeping, butleaning on Blakely's arm, Angela stood at the edge of the bluff,looking far out over the Red Rock country to the northeast. The sentryhad reported a distant signal fire, and several of the younger peoplehad strolled out to see. Whatever it was that had caused the reporthad vanished by the time they reached the post, so, presently, KateSanders started the homeward move, and now even the sentry haddisappeared in the darkness. When Angela, too, would have returned,his arm restrained. She knew it would. She knew he had not spoken thatevening at the willows because of her tears. She knew he had beenpatient, forbearing, gentle, yet well she knew he meant now to speakand wait no longer.
"Do you remember," he began, "when I said that some day I should tellyou--but never your aunt--who it was that came to my quarters thatnight--and why she came?" and though she sought to remove her handfrom his arm he would not let it go.
"You _did_ tell me," she answered, her eyelids drooping.
"I _did_!--when?"
Though the face was downcast, the sensitive lips began to quiver withmerriment and mischief.
"The same day you took me for--your mother--and asked me to sing foryou."
"Angela!" he cried, in amaze, and turning quickly toward her, "Whatcan you mean?"
"Just what I say. You began as though I were your sister, then yourmother. I think, perhaps, if we'd had another hour together it wouldhave been grandmother." She was shaking with suppressed laughter now,or was it violent trembling, for his heart, like hers, was bounding.
"I must indeed have been delirious," he answered now, not laughing,not even smiling. He had possessed himself of that other hand, despiteits fluttering effort. His voice was deep and grave and tremulous. "Icalled you anything but what I most longed to call you--what I prayGod I may call you, Angela--my wife!"
L'ENVOI
There was a wedding at Sandy that winter when Pat Mullins took hisdischarge, and his land warrant, and a claim up the Beaver, and NorahShaughnessy to wife. There was another, many a mile from Sandy, whenthe May blossoms were showering in the orchard of a fair old homesteadin the distant East, and then Neil Blakely took his bride to see "theland of the leal" after the little peep at the lands that now sheshared with him. There is one room in the beautiful old Colonialmansion that they soon learned to call "father's," in anticipation ofthe time when he should retire and come to hang the old saber on theolder mantel and spend his declining years with them. There isanother, sacred to Aunt Janet, where she was often welcomed, a womanlong since reconciled to Angela's once "obnoxious," but ever devotedadmirer. There were some points in which Aunt Janet suffered sore. Shehad views of her own upon the rearing and management of children, andthese views she did at first oppose to those of Angela, but not forlong. In this, as in her choice of a husband, Angela had to read herdeclaration of independence to the elder woman.
There is another room filled with relics of their frontierdays,--Indian weapons, blankets, beadwork,--and among these, in asort of shrine of its own, there hangs a portrait made by a famousartist from a little tintype, taken by some wandering photographerabout the old Apache reservation. Wren wrote them, ere the regimentleft Arizona, that she who had been their rescuer, and then so longdisappeared, finally wedded a young brave of the Chiricahua band andwent with him to Mexico. That portrait is the only relic they have ofa never forgotten benefactress--Natzie, their Apache Princess.
THE END.
* * * * *
A DAUGHTER _of the_ SIOUX
By GENERAL CHARLES KING
A Tale of the Indian Frontier
Illustrations by Frederic Remington and Edwin Willard Deming
* * * * *
SOME PRESS NOTES
The Chicago Daily News
A stronger story than any he has written for many years.
The Philadelphia Item
A genuinely delightful tale, clean, wholesome, thoroughly enjoyable....
The Baltimore American
Is full of interest, and equals, if not surpasses, his best previous efforts.
The Portland (Me.) Press
This captivating novel is quite perfect of its kind and there is not one dull line from start to finish.
The Burlington Hawkeye
Is one of General King's best works and withal a most entertaining and fascinating story of army life.
The San Francisco Chronicle
The story is full of life and movement, and all the details of army life are described with that perfect knowledge which carries conviction to the reader.
The Cleveland Leader
It is the strongest and most entertaining story he has written for many a day.... It gets a grip on the reader in the first chapters and holds it to the end.
The World, New York City
A soldier's story told with a soldier's swing.... Is capitally illustrated and has a particularly handsome and tasteful cover portrait of the heroine in colors.
Th
e Pittsburg Leader
There is a naturalness about the story that makes it of decided interest, and every one who reads it will lay the book down with a feeling of regret that the end has been reached so soon.
The Minneapolis Tribune
Is the best piece of work General King has given his admiring public in a long time. Is full of incident and romance, and its central theme contains a dramatic power worthy of subject and author.
The Literary World
To General King we are deeply indebted for much information concerning family life at fort and trading post. In these days of the problem novel and the yellow journal, it is a mental pleasure and a moral profit to read of men who are in love with their own wives, of women who adore their own husbands.
* * * * *
PRICE, $1.50
FOR SALE EVERYWHERE OR SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE BY
* * * * *
LOW PRICED POPULAR EDITIONS OF THE
EARLIER
MILITARY NOVELS
OF
GEN. CHARLES KING
IN ENTIRELY NEW BINDINGS
LIST OF TITLES
FOUND IN THE PHILIPPINESA GARRISON TANGLEAN ARMY WIFENOBLE BLOODFORT FRAYNEWARRIOR GAPA WOUNDED NAMETRUMPETER FRED
* * * * *
_Retail Price, 50 Cents_
FOR SALE EVERYWHERE OR SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE BY
* * * * *
THE HOBART COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
114 Fifth Avenue NEW YORK CITY
* * * * *
