bly, was the man without whose
aid nothing could have been accomplished. 'Tonio was the hero,
therefore, in the eyes of the commanding general--'Tonio, the man whom
Archer would have condemned and shot. This meant perplexity, if not
worry, as she quickly saw, and went and nestled to his side. Did ever
soldier have such contrary luck as did hers?

But all were crowding about the couriers for particulars. "Yes," said
the sturdy corporal, who was spokesman for the two, "the little fellows
had been brought in a mule litter from way over toward Chevlon's Fork,
straight to Crook's camp." Captain Stannard with most of his people
would scout the country far as the Chiquito before returning.
Lieutenant Harris and 'Tonio stayed with him, and the general's escort
from "G" troop brought in the boys.

And by ten o'clock another rider came loping in. The party with the
litter were just behind, the tiny occupants worn out and sound asleep.
"Take them straight to the hospital," said Dr. Bentley. "Mrs. Archer,
Mrs. Stannard, will you come with me?"

All Almy sat up late that night. Probably not a soldier eye was closed
until long after eleven, and half the garrison clustered about the
hospital, treading on tiptoe and speaking in whispers, as the little
fellows were tenderly lifted from the litter, the weary mules were led
away, and, in the arms of Mrs. Archer and Mrs. Stannard, the sleeping
boys were borne, without word or sound, to the darkened room where, in
the broad white bed that had been the hospital matron's, lay in the
slumber of exhaustion their unconscious mother. Bentley closed the door
behind them, noiselessly as possible. The steward and his wife, both
with tear-brimming eyes, stood by to aid. Deft hands disrobed the
sleeping little forms (Mrs. Archer nearly sobbing aloud at sight of
their thinned and wasted limbs), and invested them in borrowed
"nighties" from buxom Mrs. Kelly's store. Then, cautiously,
noiselessly, the light coverlet was partly raised, the weary little
curly heads were pillowed close beside the mother's, and then, leaving
the night light turned low, stealthily they drew away and waited. "She
never sleeps more'n an hour or two at a time," whispered the steward.
"She'll be sure to wake before long," and so they lingered near the
doorway, and Camp Almy, much of it, clustered in the moonlight without.
Ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still there was no sound from the
darkened room, and then, over at the gu