selves 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 pla