"So will I," said his companion. "A fellow wouldn't last a minute outside this fort. I prefer smothering to the death those devils will give me."

It soon became evident to the besieged that the outer wall was on fire.

The sun had gone down and darkness was deepening in the valley when the first tongue of flame licked through a crevice in the roof and showed that the fire had gained a foothold. Soon a hole appeared, close to the eaves, which gradually enlarged towards the centre of the roof and along the surface of the earth. With blankets the fire was beaten out on the sides, but it crept insidiously along between the timber and earth covering.

In making the roof, branches of pine had been spread over the timber, and the branches in turn covered with a thick layer of straw to prevent the earth from filtering between the logs. This material was as dry as tinder, and held the fire.

The men stood at the loop-holes and compelled the savages to remain under cover of the out-building, while the four girls exerted themselves to keep the fire from showing inside. Delay until help could arrive from Whipple was what all were struggling to gain; but the increasing heat and smoke showed the defenders at last that they could no longer put off retiring to the covered way.

The word was given and all entered it, and the men with shovels began to close the entrance. When it was a little more than half closed the hole in the roof had become triangular, resembling the s.p.a.ce between two spokes and a felloe of a wheel. On the earth, or felloe side of the triangle, there was no fire; but the other sides were burning fiercely.

Making a sudden dash, and before any one could realize her intention, Brenda leaped past the shovellers, sprang over the embankment they were throwing up, and by the aid of a bench sprang up the four-foot wall, through the flame-bordered aperture, and disappeared, her clothing apparently in a blaze. The war-whoops immediately ceased.

No attempt at pursuit or rescue was made. The Arnolds and the strangers felt that it would be useless, and only result in the death of the pursuers. The work of closing the pa.s.sage was resumed and completed, and all sat down to await the slow flight of time and the possible arrival of the soldiers.

After listening to the story of the Arnolds I concluded that Brenda had fallen a victim to the cruelty of the Apaches, and that we should find her mutilated and disfigured body. A rapid and excited search was at once began. Far and wide, over plain, through ravines, and into the foot-hills rode the soldiers, leaving no part of the country for several miles around unsearched; but not a trace of the missing girl was discovered.

Once more the detachment gathered near the ruins of the Arnold home, and began preparations for returning to Whipple. The remains of the dead wife and mother were lifted from beneath the charred timbers and deposited in a grave near by. While the burial was taking place, the two scouts, Weaver and Cooler, were absent, looking for the Apache trail. Day was dawning, and as it was probable when they returned that the command could start, I ordered the horses fed from the loose forage scattered about, and the men to prepare their breakfast.

The scouts returned as the men were dispersing from their meal, and Cooler placed in my hand a dainty lock of flaxen hair, wound around the middle with a strand of the same.

"I found it," said the scout, "beside the ravine yonder, a little more than two miles from here. The young miss is alive, and dropped it for a 'sign.' The redskins all left in that direction."

Whatever Brenda's three cousins may have lacked in education and cultivation, they wanted nothing in affection. They gathered about the little tress, took it daintily in their palms, kissed it again and again, and moistened it with tears. Low sobs and endearing names for the brave darling who had been willing to sacrifice her life to preserve theirs fell from their lips. Poor, rude, frontier maids, they had shown an equal bravery all through the defence, and proved themselves to be worthy descendants of the race that lived through the colonial struggles with the Indians of the Mohawk Valley. The three girls gathered about me, and, clinging to my arms, besought me to go to the rescue of their cousin.

"Yes, yes, girls," I replied; "everything shall be done that possibly can be. We will start at once, and I hope to bring her back to you."

Turning to the father, I said, "Mr. Arnold, I will leave you a luncheon for the road, and you must try to make the distance to Prescott on foot."

"Yes, sir; we can do it easy, thank you."

"I would leave you some of the men as escort, but in such an expedition I need more than I have."

"That's all right, Mr. Dunkin; 'f I had a beast I'd go with ye.

There'll be no Apaches round these parts agin for a considerable spell," and his eyes ran sadly over the ruins of his home, the wreck of his property, resting finally on the grave of his wife.

Yes, Brenda was alive, and a prisoner of the Apaches, spared by them, probably, as children sometimes are after such raids, for adoption. It was plainly our duty to rescue her from the fate of a continued life with her captors.

XVIII

ON THE TRAIL OF THE APACHES

After a further delay, to allow the scouts and their broncos to breakfast, the party mounted and turned to the west. Calling Paul Weaver to ride by my side, I questioned him about the region before us.

"I suppose you are familiar with this part of the country, Paul?"

"Ought t' be. Trapped and hunted here since I was twenty, and I'm nigh on to sixty-five now."

"Have these Apaches a camping-place near here?"

"Yes; they spend a part of every year here-abouts, gatherin' mezcal.

From the direction they've took, I b'lieve they're goin' to Santy Maree Creek."

"That flows into Bill Williams Fork, does it not?"

"Yes, an' 't has a northern and southern branch. One of th' favorite campin'-places of th' Mezcalleros 's on th' southern branch."

"How far is it from here?"

"'Bout fifty mile."

"Easy of approach?"

"Toler'ble; good ridin' all th' way, 'cept a bit of bowlder country on a divide."

"Is the camp open to attack?"

"Wide open arter yer git into th' valley. There's a waterfall, or, rather, a piece of rips ther' that 'll drown th' n'ise of our comin'."

"Isn't it strange Indians should camp in such a place?"

"They're Mezcallero 'Paches, and the'r food, th' mezcal, grows thick round ther'. 'Sides, ther's no other place on th' stream combinin'

grazin' and waterin', and they've never been hunted into that region yit."

"Well, Paul, they will be now."

I urged the men on as fast as possible, taking care not to exhaust the horses and unfit them for a long pursuit. The soldiers were animated by a strong desire to punish the Indians for their treatment of the family in Skull Valley, and were excited by the fear that the gentle and beautiful young girl in their hands might fall a victim to some barbaric cruelty before they could be overtaken, so that the animals were constantly urged close to their powers of endurance.

Near the middle of the forenoon, as the soldiers were riding up a canon, on each side of which rose rugged sandstone precipices, we came to a fork in the trail and the canon. Not only the track parted, but, judging from footprints, most of the captured stock had pa.s.sed to the right. Weaver said the right-hand path led to the northern branch of the Santa Maria, and the left to the southern.

I halted the detachment, perplexed. To divide my party of twenty-nine in order to follow both trails seemed to me to be inviting disaster.

To take the whole number over a wrong trail and not rescue Brenda was a course to be dreaded. I called up the scouts, Weaver and Cooler, for a consultation.

"Don't you think it is probable," I asked, "that a girl who was thoughtful enough to drop a 'sign' to show she is alive and a captive, would be likely to give a hint here as to which trail she was taken over?"

"That's prob'ble, liftinint," replied Weaver. "'F you'll hold th' boys here a bit, George an' I'll ride up th' two trails a piece an' look for signs."

"Go quite a distance, too. She might not get an opportunity to drop anything for some time after leaving the fork."

"That's true, sir," said Cooler; "the redskins would naturally be watching her closely. Which way will you go, Paul?"

"Let the liftinint say," answered the elder scout, tightening his belt and readjusting his equipments for resuming his riding.

"All ready, then," said I. "You take the right, Weaver, and George the left. While you are gone we'll turn out the stock."