up with no man dissenting from the general
belief in 'Tonio's attempted, yet baffled, revenge.

"Did 'Tonio tell you of what happened later--of his attempt to shoot at
Lieutenant Willett?"

"Not a word or sign of that, sir!"

And yet it was 'Tonio's people who kept the faith as to bearing
messages and giving safe conduct to Archer's people in the field. It
was all past Archer's comprehension and that of the officers present.
There was no Gray Fox there who knew Indians as they knew themselves.
There was no genial, straightforward "Big Chief Jake," the fearless
soldier leader from the lower reservation, from Camp Apache and the San
Carlos, the man on whom the Gray Fox leaned, the man whom the hostiles
dreaded, the "friendlies" trusted, and all frontiersmen, soldier or
civilian, swore by. They could have fathomed it. Even blunt old
Stannard, had he been there, could have thrown some needed light on the
vexed and gloomy question. But in all Camp Almy that night there was
only one officer who, knowing few of these facts, nevertheless knew
'Tonio so well, and so repented him of his own brief suspicion, that he
would have called a halt to the order given Captain Turner within the
hour--to send Sergeant Malloy, with a dozen men, as soon as the coast
was clear of the hostile Apaches, to run down 'Tonio wherever he might
be, to secure and bring him in, a prisoner bound, and if he sought to
escape, to shoot him dead.

CHAPTER XIX.

An atmosphere of peace ineffable surrounded old Camp Almy. The Indians
lately infesting the neighborhood seemed to have gone away into the
mountain fastnesses. Turner had pushed little scouting parties
cautiously into the foothills to the west and the rugged country
eastward across the stream. Others had ventured down to the Peak and
scaled it in search of signal smokes or fires. Others still had
explored the valley toward Dead Man's Canon, and back by way of
Bennett's, without finding so much as a moccasin print. Even the
Apache-Mohaves seemed to have gone from the neighborhood. Malloy with
his chosen ten was still out, and a rumor was prevalent that their
orders might keep them away some days, so no apprehension was felt at
their continued absence.

Another week was nearing an end. A runner, Hualpai, had come in from
the far north-east, with despatches from Stannard. He was with General
Crook and their comrades from the northward camps and stations. They
had abundant supplies, had sca