CHAPTER XXI
OUR VANISHED PRINCESS
Then came a story told in fierce and excited whisperings, Arnold thespeaker, prompted sometimes by his companions; Stone, and the fewsoldiers grouped about him, awe-stricken and dismayed. Blakely hadstarted up from his litter, his face white with an awful dread,listening in wordless agony.
At six the previous morning, loping easily out from Sandy, Arnold'speople had reached the ranch and found the veteran colonel with hisorderlies impatiently waiting for them. These latter had had abundantfood and coffee and the colonel was fuming with impatience to move,but Arnold's people had started on empty stomachs, counting on ahearty breakfast at the ranch. Jose could have it ready in shortorder. So Byrne, with his men, mounted and rode ahead on the trail ofthe infantry, saying the rest could overtake him before he reached therocky and dangerous path over the first range. For a few miles theBeaver Valley was fairly wide and open. Not twenty minutes later, asArnold's comrades sat on the porch on the north side of the house,they heard swift hoof-beats, and wondered who could be coming now.But, without an instant's pause, the rider had galloped by, and one ofthe men, hurrying to the corner of the ranch, was amazed to see thelithe, slender form of Angela Wren speeding her pet pony like the windup the sandy trail. Arnold refused to believe at first, but his eyesspeedily told him the same story. He had barely a glimpse of herbefore she was out of sight around a grove of willows up the stream."Galloping to catch the colonel," said he, and such was his belief.Angela, he reasoned, had hastened after them to send some message oflove to her wounded father, and had perhaps caught sight of the triofar out in the lead. Arnold felt sure that they would meet her comingback, sure that there was no danger for her, with Byrne and hisfellows well out to the front. They finished their breakfast,therefore, reset their saddles, mounted and rode for an hour towardthe Mogollon and still the pony tracks led them on, overlying those ofthe colonel's party. Then they got among the rocks and only atintervals found hoof-prints; but, far up along the range, caught sightof the three horsemen, and so, kept on. It was after ten when at lastthey overtook the leaders, and then, to their consternation, AngelaWren was not with them. They had neither seen nor heard of her, andByrne was aghast when told that, alone and without a guide, she hadridden in among the foothills of those desolate, pathless mountains."The girl is mad," said he, "and yet it's like her to seek to reachher father."
Instantly they divided forces to search for her. Gorges and canonsinnumerable seamed the westward face of this wild spur of the Sierras,and, by the merest luck in the world, one of Arnold's men, spurringalong a stony ridge, caught sight of a girlish form far across a deepravine, and quickly fired two shots in signal that he had "sighted"the chase. It brought Arnold and two of his men to the spot and,threading their way, sometimes afoot and leading their steeds,sometimes in saddle and urging them through the labyrinth of bowlders,they followed on. At noon they had lost not only all sight of her, butof their comrades, nor had they seen the latter since. Byrne and hisorderlies, with three of the party that "pulled out" from Sandy withArnold in the morning, had disappeared. Again and again they firedtheir Henrys, hoping for answering signal, or perhaps to attractAngela's attention. All doubt as to her purpose was now ended. Mad shemight be, but determined she was, and had deliberately dodged pastthem at the Beaver, fearing opposition to her project. At two,moreover, they found that she could "trail" as well as they, for amongthe stunted cedars at the crest of a steep divide, they found theprint of the stout brogans worn by their infantry comrades, and, downamong the rocks of the next ravine, crushed bits of hardtack by a"tank" in the hillside. She had stopped there long enough at least towater Punch, then pushed on again.
Once more they saw her, not three miles ahead at four o'clock, justentering a little clump of pines at the top of a steep acclivity. Theyfired their rifles and shouted loud in hopes of halting her, but allto no purpose. Night came down and compelled them to bivouac. Theybuilt a big fire to guide the wanderers, but morning broke withoutsign of them; so on they went, for now, away from the rocks the trailwas often distinct, and once again they found the pony hoof-prints andthanked God. At seven by Arnold's watch, among the breaks across asteep divide they found another tank, more crumbs, a grain sack withsome scattered barley, more hardtack and the last trace of Angela.Arnold's hand shook, as did his voice, as he drew forth a littlefluttering ribbon--the "snood" poor Wren so loved to see binding hischild's luxuriant hair.
They reasoned she had stopped here to feed and water her pony, and hadprobably bathed her face and flung loose her hair and forgotten laterthe binding ribbon. They believed she had followed on after Stout'shard-marching company. It was easy to trail. They counted on findingher when they found her father, and now here lay Wren unconscious ofher loss, and Blakely, realizing it all--cruelly, feverishly realizingit--yet so weakened by his wounds as to be almost powerless to marchor mount and go in search of her.
No question now as to the duty immediately before them. In twentyminutes the pack mules were again strapped between the saplings, thelittle command was slowly climbing toward the westward heights, withArnold and two of his friends scouting the rough trail and hillsides,firing at long intervals and listening in suspense almost intolerablefor some answering signal. The other of their number had volunteeredto follow Stout over the plateau toward the Pass and acquaint him withthe latest news.
While the sun was still high in the heavens, far to the northward,they faintly heard or thought they heard two rifle shots. At fouro'clock, as they toiled through a tangle of rock and stunted pine,Arnold, riding well to the front, came suddenly out upon a bare ledgefrom which he could look over a wild, wide sweep of mountain side,stretching leagues to north and south, and there his keen andpracticed eye was greeted by a sight that thrilled him with dreadunspeakable. Dread, not for himself or his convoy of wounded, butdread for Angela. Jutting, from the dark fringe of pines along aprojecting bluff, perhaps four miles away, little puffs or clouds ofsmoke, each separate and distinct, were sailing straight aloft in thepulseless air--Indian signals beyond possibility of doubt. SomeApaches, then, were still hovering about the range overlooking thebroad valley of the Sandy, some of the bands then were prowling in themountains between the scouting troops and the garrisoned post. Somemust have been watching this very trail, in hopes of interceptingcouriers or stragglers, some _must_ have seen and seized poor Angela.
He had sprung from saddle and leveled his old field glass at thedistant promontory, so absorbed in his search he did not note thecoming of the little column. The litter bearing Blakely foremost ofthe four had halted close beside him, and Blakely's voice, weak andstrained, yet commanding, suddenly startled him with demand to be toldwhat he saw, and Arnold merely handed him the glass and pointed. Thelast of the faint smoke puffs was just soaring into space, makingfour still in sight. Blakely never even took the binocular. He hadseen enough by the unaided eye.
"INDIAN SIGNALS BEYOND POSSIBILITY OF A DOUBT"]
With uplifted hand the sergeant had checked the coming of the nextlitter, Wren's, and those that followed it. One of the wounded men,the poor lad crazed by the perils of the siege, was alert and beggingfor more water, but Wren was happily lost to the world in swoon orslumber. To the soldier bending over him he seemed scarcely breathing.Presently they were joined by two of Arnold's party who had beensearching out on the left flank. They, too, had seen, and the threewere now in low-toned conference. Blakely for the moment was unnoted,forgotten.
"That tank--where we found the ribbon--was just about two milesyonder," said Arnold, pointing well down the rugged slope toward thesouthwest, where other rocky, pine-fringed heights barred the view tothe distant Sandy. "Surely the colonel or some of his fellows must bealong here. Ride ahead a hundred yards or so and fire a couple ofshots," this to one of his men, who silently reined his tired broncointo the rude trail among the pine cones and disappeared. The otherswaited. Presently came the half-smothered sound of a shot and ahalf-stifled cry from the rearmo
st litter. Every such shock meant newterror to that poor lad, but Wren never stirred. Half a minute passedwithout another sound than faint and distant echo; then faint, and notso distant, came another sound, a prolonged shout, and presentlyanother, and then a horseman hove in sight among the trees across anearly mile-wide dip. Arnold and his friends rode on to meet him,leaving the litters at the crest. In five minutes one of the ridersreappeared and called: "It's Horn, of the orderlies. He reportsColonel Byrne just ahead. Come on!" and turning, dove back down thetwisted trail.
The colonel might have been just ahead when last seen, but when theyreached the tank he was far aloft again, scouting from another heightto the northward, and while the orderly went on to find and tell him,Arnold and his grave-faced comrade dismounted there to await thecoming of the litters. Graver were the faces even than before. Thenews that had met them was most ominous. Two of those who searchedwith Colonel Byrne had found pony tracks leading northward--leading inthe very direction in which they had seen the smoke. There was noother pony shoe in the Sandy valley. It could be none other thanAngela's little friend and comrade--Punch.
And this news they told to Blakely as the foremost litter came. Helistened with hardly a word of comment; then asked for his scoutingnotebook. He was sitting up now. They helped him from his springycouch to a seat on the rocks, and gave him a cup of the cold water.One by one the other litters were led into the little amphitheater andunlashed. Everyone seemed to know that here must be the bivouac forthe night, their abiding place for another day, perhaps, unless theyshould find the captain's daughter. They spoke, when they spoke atall, in muffled tones, these rough, war-worn men of the desert andthe mountain. They bent over the wounded with sorrowing eyes, andwondered why no surgeon had come out to meet them. Heartburn, ofcourse, had done his best, dressing and rebandaging the wounds atdawn, but then he had to go on with Stout and the company, while oneof the Apache Yumas was ordered to dodge his way in to Sandy, with aletter urging that Graham be sent out to follow the trail and meet thereturning party.
Meanwhile the sun had dropped behind the westward heights; the nightwould soon be coming down, chill and overcast. Byrne was still away,but he couldn't miss the tank, said one of the troopers who had riddenwith him. Twice during the morning they had all met there and thengone forth again, searching--searching. Punch's little hoof-tracks,cutting through a sandy bit in the northward ravine, had drawn themall that way, but nothing further had been found. His horse, too, saidthe orderly, was lame and failing, so he had been bidden to wait bythe water and watch for couriers either from the front or out from thepost. Byrne was one of those never-give-up men, and they all knew him.
Barley was served out to the animals, a little fire lighted, lookoutswere stationed, and presently their soldier supper was ready, andstill Blakely said nothing. He had written three notes or letters, oneof which seemed to give him no little trouble, for one after anotherhe thrust two leaves into the fire and started afresh. At length theywere ready, and he signaled to Arnold. "You can count, I think, onGraham's getting here within a few hours," said he. "Meantime you'reas good a surgeon as I need. Help me on with this sling." And stillthey did not fathom his purpose. He was deathly pale, and his eyeswere eloquent of dread unspeakable, but he seemed to have forgottenpain, fever, and prostration. Arnold, in the silent admiration of thefrontier, untied the support, unloosed the bandages, and together theyredressed the ugly wound. Then presently the Bugologist stood feeblyupon his feet and looked about him. It was growing darker, and notanother sound had come from Byrne.
"Start one of your men into Sandy at once," said Blakely, to thesergeant, and handed him a letter addressed to Major Plume. "He willprobably meet the doctor before reaching the Beaver. These other twoI'll tell you what to do with later. Now, who has the best horse?"
Arnold stared. Sergeant Stone quickly turned and saluted. "Thelieutenant is not thinking of mounting, I hope," said he.
Blakely did not even answer. He was studying the orderly's bay. Stiffand a little lame he might be, but, refreshed and strengthened byabundant barley, he was a better weight-carrier than the other, andBlakely had weight. "Saddle your horse, Horn," said he, "and fasten onthose saddle-bags of mine."
"But, lieutenant," ventured Arnold, "you are in no shape to rideanything but that litter. Whatever you think of doing, let me do."
"What I am thinking of doing nobody else can do," said Blakely. "Whatyou can do is, keep these two letters till I call for them. If at theend of a week I fail to call, deliver them as addressed and to nobodyelse. Now, before dark I must reach that point younder," and heindicated the spot where in the blaze of the westering sun a mass ofrock towered high above the fringing pine and mournful shadows at itsbase, a glistening landmark above the general gloom at the lower leveland at that hour of the afternoon. "Now," he added quietly, "you canhelp me into saddle."
"But for God's sake, lieutenant, let some of us ride with you,"pleaded Arnold. "If Colonel Byrne was here he'd never let you go."
"Colonel Byrne is not here, and I command, I believe," was the brief,uncompromising answer. "And no man rides with me because, with anotherman, I'd never find what I'm in search of." For a moment he bent overWren, a world of wordless care, dread, and yet determination in hispale face. Arnold saw his wearied eyes close a moment, his lips moveas though in petition, then he suddenly turned. "Let me have thatribbon," said he bluntly, and without a word Arnold surrendered it.Stone held the reluctant horse, Arnold helped the wounded soldier intothe saddle. "Don't worry about me--any of you," said Blakely, in brieffarewell. "Good-night," and with that he rode away.
Arnold and the men stood gazing after him. "Grit clean through," saidthe ranchman, through his set teeth, for a light was dawning on him,as he pondered over Blakely's words. "May the Lord grant I don't haveto deliver these!" Then he looked at the superscriptions. One letterwas addressed to Captain, or Miss Janet, Wren--the other to Mrs.Plume.