--an old-fashioned,
war-time, percussion-capped Navy Colt--the pistol officers carried
through the four years of battling in preference to the so-called Army
Colt issued to the cavalry. "Some relic of the old volunteer days at
Almy," said Harris to himself, and bade the Indian keep it. Nor did he
think again of that pistol until many days later.

That night they bivouacked among the tanks under Diamond Butte. Next
day, toward sunset, as the smoke from the little cook fire went sailing
aloft from the bank of a mountain stream that came tumbling from the
Black Mesa, another little column of smoke answered from among the
pines far up the heights. An Indian touched the young soldier's sleeve
and pointed. Another moment and he was up, blanket in hand and
signalling. That night the escaped prisoner, whom all commanders of
posts or detachments were ordered to arrest wherever found, stood erect
in the firelight, clasping hands with his young leader--'Tonio, the
Apache-Mohave, and 'Tonio had a stirring tale to tell.

Barely five days later still, Archer and his wife sat hand in hand in
the cool veranda, taking the air. The sun was just down and the flag
had just fluttered to its rest. From the open casement came the murmur
of happy voices, one so very happy it thrilled their hearts. Across the
barren parade the men were just breaking ranks after retreat
inspection, and the officers were coming homeward, unbelting sword or
sabre as they neared their doors, in the impatient fashion of the day.
Strong, the adjutant, still precise and buckled, stalked up to his
commander's steps, halted, saluted, and said: "All present, sir, and
couriers coming up the valley."

Archer rose to his feet and reached for his binocular. Forgetful of
supper, many men began to gather at the edge of the bluff over by the
office. A brace of sergeants had clambered to the lookout, and Mrs.
Stannard, eager ever for news from her husband, came hurrying to join
her friends. Twilight faded with almost tropical suddenness, but not
before the coming riders could be recognized as troopers, and Mrs.
Stannard's heart was praying they might be her Luce's men.

"If you had your wish," said Archer, as he lowered the glass and turned
to where the two friends stood, their arms entwining, "what would you
ask for, Mrs. Stannard?"

"My husband, I suppose," was the answer, "and yet--I've been sitting
hours by poor Mrs. Bennett this day," and the blue eyes began to fill.