"No, Cassidy," said Doty. "The colonel is at his quarters. Dispatch,
is it? Perhaps I'd better go with you," and, rising, the young officer
led the way, entering on tiptoe the hall of the middle house where,
far back on a table, a lamp was burning low. Tapping at an inner door,
he was bidden to enter. Byrne was in bed, a single sheet over his
burly form, but he lay wide awake. He took the first dispatch and tore
it open eagerly. It was from Bridger at the agency: Runners just in say Natzie and Lola had turned back from
trail to Montezuma Well, refusing to go further from their
dead. Can probably be found if party go at dawn or sooner.
Alchisay with them. More Indians surely going out from here.
Byrne's brow contracted and his lips compressed, but he gave no other
sign. "Is Captain Wren still up?" he briefly asked, as he reached for
the other dispatch.
"Over at the hospital, sir," said Doty, and watched this famous
campaigner's face as he ripped open the second brown envelope. This
time he was half out of bed before he could have half finished even
that brief message. It was from the general: News of trouble must have reached Indians at San Carlos.
Much excitement there and at Apache. Shall start for Camp
McDowell to-morrow as soon as I have seen Plume. He should
come early.
The colonel was in his slippers and inexpressibles in less than no
time, but Plume aloft had heard the muffled sounds from the lower
floor, and was down in a moment. Without a word Byrne handed him the
second message and waited until he had read, then asked: "Can you
start at dawn?"
"I can start now," was the instant reply. "Our best team can make it
in ten hours. Order out the Concord, Mr. Doty." And Doty vanished.
"But Mrs. Plume--" began the colonel tentatively.
"Mrs. Plume simply needs quiet and to be let alone," was the joyless
answer. "I think perhaps--I am rather in the way."
"Well, I know the general will appreciate your promptness. I--did not
know you had asked to see him," and Byrne looked up from under his
shaggy brows.
"I hadn't exactly, but my letter intimated as much. There is so very
much I--I cannot write about--that of course he's bound to hear,--I
don't mean you, Colonel Byrne,--and he ought to know the--facts. Now
I'll get ready at once and--see you before starting."
"Better take an escort, Plume."
"One man on driver's seat. That's all, sir. I'll come in presently, in
case you have anything to send," said Plume, and hurried again
upstairs.
It was barely midnight when Plume's big black wagon, the Concord, all
spring and hickory, as said the post quartermaster, went whirling away
behind its strapping team of four huge Missouri mules. It was 12.30 by
the guard-house clock and the call of the sentries when Wren came home
to find Angela, her long, luxuriant hair tumbling down over her soft,
white wrapper, waiting for him at the front door. From her window she
had seen him coming; had noted the earlier departure of the wagon; had
heard the voice of Major Plume bidding good-by, and wondered what it
meant--this midnight start of the senior officer of the post. She had
been sitting there silent, studying the glittering stars, and
wondering would there be an answer to her note? Would he be able to
write just yet? Was there reason, really, why he should write, after
all that had passed? Somehow she felt that write he certainly would,
and soon, and the thought kept her from sleeping. It was because she
was anxious about Mullins, so she told herself and told her father,
that she had gone fluttering down to meet him at the door. But no
sooner had he answered, "Still delirious and yet holding his own,"
than she asked where and why Major Plume had gone.