CHAPTER XXV
RESCUE REQUITED
A change had come over the spirit of Camp Sandy's dream. The garrisonthat had gone to bed the previous night, leaving Natzie silent,watchful, wistful at the post commander's door, had hardly a thoughtthat was not full of sympathy and admiration for her. Even women whocould not find it possible to speak of her probable relations withNeil Blakely dwelt much in thought and word upon her superb devotionand her generosity. That he had encouraged her passionate and almostsavage love for him there were few to doubt, whatsoever they mightfind it possible to say. That men and women both regarded her as,beyond compare, the heroic figure of the campaign there was none togainsay. Even those who could not or did not talk of her at all feltthat such was the garrison verdict. There were no men, and but fewwomen, who would have condemned the doctor's act in leading her toBlakely's bedside. Sandy had spoken of her all that wonderful eveningonly to praise. It woke to hear the first tidings of the new day, andto ask only What was the cause?--What had led to her wild, swiftvengeance? for Todd had in turn been carried to hospital, asore-stricken man. The night before Natzie was held a queen: now shewas held a captive.
It all happened so suddenly that even Plume, who witnessed the entireincident, could not coherently explain it. Reveille was just over andthe men were going to breakfast when the major's voice was heardshouting for the guard. Graham, first man to reach the scene, hadcollided with Janet Wren, whimpering and unnerved, as he bounded intothe hallway. His first thought was that Plume's prophecy about theknifing had come true, and that Blakely was the victim. His firstsight, when his eyes could do their office in that darkened room, wasof Blakely wresting something from the grasp of the Indian girl, whosegaze was now riveted on that writhing object on the floor.
"See to him, doctor," he heard Blakely say, in feeble, but commandingtone. "I will see to her." But Blakely was soon in no condition to seeto her or to anybody. The flicker of strength that came to him for asecond or two at sight of the tragedy, left him as suddenly--left himfeebler than before. He had no voice with which to protest when thestretchermen, who bore away poor Todd, were followed instantly bystout guardsmen who bore away Natzie. The dignity of the chieftain'sdaughter had vanished now. She had no knife with which to deal deathto these new and most reluctant assailants--Graham found it underBlakely's pillow, long hours later. But, with all her savage, lissomestrength she scratched and struck and struggled. It took three oftheir burliest to carry her away, and they did it with shame-hiddenfaces, while rude comrades chaffed and jeered and even shoutedlaughing encouragement to the girl, whose screams of rage had drawnall Camp Sandy to the scene. One doctor, two men, and the steward wentwith their groaning burden one way to the hospital. One officer, onesergeant, and half a dozen men had all they could do to take theirraging charge another way to the guard-house. Ah, Plume, you mighthave spared that brave girl such indignity! But, where one facefollowed the wounded man with sympathetic eyes, there were twenty thatnever turned from the Indian girl until her screams were deadened bythe prison doors.
"She stabbed a soldier who meant her no harm," was Plume's sullen andstubborn answer to all appeals, for good and gentle women went to him,begging permission to go to her. It angered him presently to theextent of repeating his words with needless emphasis and additionswhen Mother Shaughnessy came to make her special appeal. Shure she hadlearned how to care for these poor creatures, was her claim, along o'having little Paquita on her hands so many days, "and now that poorgirl beyant will be screaming herself into fits!"
"Let her scream," said Plume, unstrung and shaken, "but hold you yourtongue or I'll find a separate cell for you. No woman shall be knifingmy men, and go unpunished, if I can help it," and so saying he turnedwrathfully from her.
"Heard you that now?" stormed Mother Shaughnessy, as he strode away."Who but he has helped his women to go unpunished--" and the wordswere out and heard before the sergeant major could spring and silenceher. Before another day they were echoing all over the post--were ontheir way to Prescott, even, and meeting, almost at the northwardgateway, the very women the raging laundress meant. Of her own freewill Clarice Plume was once again at Sandy, bringing with her, sorelyagainst the will of either, but because a stronger will would have itso--and sent his guards to see to it--a cowed and scared andsemi-silent companion of whom much ill was spoken now about thegarrison--Elise Lebrun.
The news threw Norah Shaughnessy nearly into spasms. "'Twas she thatknifed Pat Mullins!" she cried. "'Twas she drove poor Downs to dhrinkand desartion. 'Twas she set Carmody and Shannon to cuttin' eachother's throats"--which was news to a garrison that had seen theprocess extend no further than to each other's acquaintance. And moreand stormier words the girl went on to say concerning the commander'shousehold until Mullins himself mildly interposed. But all thesethings were being told about the garrison, from which Lola andAlchisay had fled in terror to spread the tidings that their princesswas a prisoner behind the bars. These were things that were beingtold, too, to the men of Sanders's returning troop before they werefairly unsaddled at the stables; and that night, before ever he soughthis soldier pillow, Shannon had been to "C" Troop's quarters in searchof Trooper Stern and had wrung from him all that he could tell ofCarmody's last fight on earth--of his last words to LieutenantBlakely.
Meantime a sorely troubled man was Major Plume. That his wife wouldhave to return to Sandy he had learned from the lips of Colonel Byrnehimself. Her own good name had been involved, and could only becompletely cleared when Wren and Blakely were sufficiently recoveredto testify, and when Mullins should be so thoroughly restored as to befit for close cross-examination. Plume could in no wise connect hisbeloved wife with either the murderous assault on Mullins or themysterious firing of Blakely's quarters, but he knew that Sandy couldnot so readily acquit her, even though it might saddle the actual deedupon her instrument--Elise. He had ordered that Blakely should bebrought to his own quarters because there he could not be reached byany who were unacceptable to himself, the post commander. There weremany things he wished to know about and from Blakely's lips alone. Hecould not stoop to talk with other men about the foibles of his wife.He knew that iron box in Truman's care contained papers, letters, or_something_ of deep interest to her. He knew full well now that, atsome time in the not far distant past, Blakely himself had been ofdeep interest to her and she to Blakely. He had Blakely's last letterto himself, written just before the lonely start in quest of Angela,but that letter made no reference to the contents of the box or toanything concerning their past. He had heard that Wales Arnold hadbeen intrusted with letters for Blakely to Clarice, his wife, and toCaptain, or Miss Janet Wren. Arnold had not been entirely silent onthe subject. He did not too much like the major, and rather rejoicedin this opportunity to show his independence of him. Plume had gone sofar as to ask Arnold whether such letters had been intrusted to him,and Wales said, yes; but, now that Blakely was safely back andprobably going to pull through, he should return the letters to thewriter as soon as the writer was well enough to appreciate what wasbeing done. Last, but not least, Plume had picked up near the door inBlakely's room the circular, nearly flat, leather-covered case whichhad dropped, apparently, from Natzie's gown, and, as it had neitherlock nor latch, Plume had opened it to examine its contents.
To his surprise it contained a beautifully executed miniature, alikeness of a fair young girl, with soft blue eyes and heavy, archingbrows, a delicately molded face and mouth and chin, all framed in atumbling mass of tawny hair. It was the face of a child of twelve orthirteen, one that he had never seen and of whom he knew nothing.Neither cover, backing, nor case of the miniature gave the faintestclew as to its original or as to its ownership. What was Natzie doingwith this?--and to whom did it belong? A little study satisfied himthere was something familiar in the face, yet he could not place it.
The very night of her coming, therefore, he told his wife the storyand handed her the portrait. One glance was enough. "I know it, yes,"said Mrs. Plume, "though I
, too, have never seen her. She died thewinter after it was taken. It is Mr. Blakely's sister, Ethel," andMrs. Plume sat gazing at the sweet girl features, with strangeemotion in her aging face. There was something--some story--behind allthis that Plume could not fathom, and it nettled him. Perhaps he, too,was yielding to a fit of nerves. Elise, the maid, had been remanded toher room, and could be heard moving about with heavy, yet uncertaintread. "She is right over Blakely," quoth the major impatiently. "Whycan't the girl be quiet?"
"Why did you bring him _here_, then?" was the weary answer. "I cannotcontrol Elise. They have treated her most cruelly."
"There are things you cannot explain and that she must," said he, andthen, to change the subject, stretched forth his hand to take againthe picture. She drew it back one moment, then, remembering,surrendered it.
"You saw this in--St. Louis, I suppose," said he awkwardly. He nevercould bear to refer to those days--the days before he had come intoher life.
"Not that perhaps, but the photograph from which it was probablypainted. She was his only sister. He was educating her in the East."And again her thoughts were drifting back to those St. Louis days,when, but for the girl sister he so loved, she and Neil Blakely hadbeen well-nigh inseparable. Someone had said then, she remembered,that she was jealous even of that love.
And now again her husband was gazing fixedly at the portrait, a lightcoming into his lined and anxious face. Blakely had always carriedthis miniature with him, for he now remembered that the agent, Daly,had spoken of it. Natzie and others might well have seen it at thereservation. The agent's wife had often seen it and had spoken of hissorrow for the sister he had lost. The picture, she said, stood oftenon his little camp table. Every Indian who entered his tent knew itand saw it. Why, surely; Natzie, too, mused the major, and then aloud:
"I can see now what we have all been puzzling over. Angela Wren mightwell have looked like this--four years ago."
"There is not the faintest resemblance," said Clarice, promptly risingand quitting the room.
It developed with another day that Mrs. Plume had no desire to seeMiss Wren, the younger. She expressed none, indeed, when policy andthe manners of good society really required it. Miss Janet had come inwith Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Sanders to call upon the wife of thecommanding officer and say what words of welcome were possible asappropriate to her return. "And Angela," said Janet, for reasons ofher own, "will be coming later." There was no response, nor was thereto the next tentative. The ladies thought Mrs. Plume should joinforces with them and take Natzie out of the single cell she occupied."Can she not be locked at the hospital, under the eye of the matron,with double sentries? It is hard to think of her barred in thathideous place with Apache prisoners and rude men all about her." Butagain was Mrs. Plume unresponsive. She would say no word of interestin either Angela or Natzie. At the moment when her husband was inmelting mood and when a hint from her lips would have secured thepartial release of the Indian girl, the hint was withheld. It wouldhave been better for her, for her husband, for more than one brave ladon guard, had the major's wife seen fit to speak, but she would not.
So that evening brought release that, in itself, brought much reliefto the commanding officer and the friends who still stood by him.
Thirty-six hours now had Natzie been a prisoner behind the bars, andno one of those we know had seen her face. At tattoo the drums andfifes began their sweet, old-fashioned soldier tunes. The guard turnedout; the officer of the day buckled his belt with a sigh and startedforth to inspect, just as the foremost soldiers appeared on the porchin front, buttoning their coats and adjusting their belts and slings.Half their number began to form ranks; the other half "stood by,"within the main room, to pass out the prisoners, many of whom wore aclanking chain. All on a sudden there arose a wild clamor--shouts,scuffling, the thunder of iron upon resounding woodwork, hoarseorders, curses, shrieks, a yell for help, a shot, a mad scurry of manyfeet, furious cries of "Head 'em off!" "Shoot!" "No, no, don't shoot!You'll kill our own!" A dim cloud of ghostly, shadowy forms wenttearing away down the slope toward the south. There followed atremendous rush of troop after troop, company after company,--thewhole force of Camp Sandy in uproarious pursuit,--until in the dimstarlight the barren flats below the post, the willow patches alongthe stream, the plashing waters of the ford, the still and glassysurface of the shadowy pool, were speedily all alive with dark anddarting forms intermingled in odd confusion. From the eastward side,from officers' row, Plume and his white-coated subordinates hastenedto the southward face, realizing instantly what must haveoccurred--the long-prophesied rush of Apache prisoners for freedom.Yet how hopeless, how mad, how utterly absurd was the effort! Whatearthly chance had they--poor, manacled, shackled, ball-burdenedwretches--to escape from two hundred fleet-footed, unhampered,stalwart young soldiery, rejoicing really in the fun and excitement ofthe thing? One after another the shackled fugitives were run down andoverhauled, some not half across the parade, some in the shadows ofthe office and storehouses, some down among the shrubbery toward thelighted store, some among the shanties of Sudsville, some, lightestweighted of all, far away as the lower pool, and so one after another,the grimy, sullen, swarthy lot were slowly lugged back to the unsavoryprecincts wherein, for long weeks and months, they had slept orstealthily communed through the hours of the night. Three or four hadbeen cut or slashed. Three or four soldiers had serious hurts,scratches or bruises as their fruits of the affray. But after all, themalefactors, miscreants, and incorrigibles of the Apache tribe hadprofited little by their wild and defiant essay--profited little, thatis, if personal freedom was what they sought.
But was it? said wise heads of the garrison, as they looked thesituation over. Shannon and some of his ilk were doing muchindependent trailing by aid of their lanterns. Taps should have beensounded at ten, but wasn't by any means, for "lights out" was the lastthing to be thought of. Little by little it dawned upon Plume and hissupporters that, instead of scattering, as Indian tactics demanded onall previous exploits of the kind, there had been one grand, concertedrush to the southward--planned, doubtless, for the purpose of drawingthe whole garrison thither in pursuit, while three pairs of moccasinedfeet slipped swiftly around to the rear of the guard-house, out beyondthe dim corrals, and around to a point back of "C" Troop stables,where other little hoofs had been impatiently tossing up the sandsuntil suddenly loosed and sent bounding away to where the North Starhung low over the sheeny white mantle of San Francisco mountain.Natzie, the girl queen, was gone from the guard-house: Punch, the LadyAngela's pet pony, was gone from the corral, and who would say therehad not been collusion?
"One thing is certain," said the grave-faced post commander, as, withhis officers, he left the knot of troopers and troopers' wiveshovering late about the guard-house, "one thing is certain; withWren's own troopers hot on the heels of Angela's pony we'll have ourApache princess back, sure as the morning sun."
"Like hell!" said Mother Shaughnessy.