Indians. They had scattered before him into the wild country
toward the great Colorado, where Stout, with his hickory-built
footmen, and Brewster, with most of Wren's troop, were stirring up
Apaches night and day, while Sanders and others were steadily driving
on toward the old Wingate road. Stout had found Brewster beleaguered,
but safe and sound, with no more men killed and few seriously wounded.
They had communicated with Sanders's side scouts, and were finding and
following fresh trails with every day, when Stout was surprised to
receive orders to drop pursuit and start with Brewster's fellows and
to scout the west face of the mountains from the Beaver to the heights
opposite the old Indian reservation. There was a stirring scene at
bivouac when that order came, and with it the explanation that Angela
Wren had vanished and was probably captured; that Blakely had followed
and was probably killed. "They might shoot Blakely in fair fight,"
said Stout, who knew him, and knew the veneration that lived for him
in the hearts of the Indian leaders, "but they at least would never
butcher him in cold blood. Their unrestrained young men might do it."
Stout's awful dread, like that of every man and woman at Sandy, and
every soldier in the field, was for Angela. The news, too, had been
rushed to the general, and his orders were instant. "Find the chiefs
in the field," said he to his interpreter and guide. "Find Shield's
people, and say that if a hair of her head is injured I shall hunt
them down, braves, women, and children--I shall hunt them anyhow until
they surrender her unharmed."

But the Apaches were used to being hunted, and some of them really
liked the game. It was full of exhilaration and excitement, and not a
few chances to hunt and hit back. The threat conveyed no terror to the
renegades. It was to the Indians at the reservation that the tidings
brought dismay, yet even there, so said young Bridger, leaders and
followers swore they had no idea where the white maiden could be, much
less the young chief. They, the peaceable and the poor servants of the
great Father at Washington, had no dealings with these others, his
foes.

About the post, where gloom and dread unspeakable prevailed, there was
no longer the fear of possible attack. The Indian prisoners in the
guard-house had dropped their truculent, defiant manner, and become
again sullen and apathetic. The down-stream settlers had returned to
their ranches and repo