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 place on th' stream combinin' grazin' and waterin', and they've never been hunted into that region yit."

"Well, Paul, they will be now."

I urged the men on as fast as possible, taking care not to exhaust the horses and unfit them for a long pursuit. The soldiers were animated by a strong desire to punish the Indians for their treatment of the family in Skull Valley, and were excited by the fear that the gentle and beautiful young girl in their hands might fall a victim to some barbaric cruelty before they could be overtaken, so that the animals were constantly urged close to their powers of endurance.

Near the middle of the forenoon, as the soldiers were riding up a caÑon, on each side of which rose rugged sandstone precipices, we came to a fork in the trail and the caÑon. Not only the track parted, but, judging from footprints, most of the captured stock had passed to the right. Weaver said the right-hand path led to the northern branch of the Santa Maria, and the left to the southern.

I halted the detachment, perplexed. To divide my party of twenty-nine in order to follow both trails seemed to me to be inviting disaster. To take the whole number over a wrong trail and not rescue Brenda was a course to be dreaded. I called up the scouts, Weaver and Cooler, for a consultation.

"Don't you think it is probable," I asked, "that a girl who was thoughtful enough to drop a 'sign' to show she is alive and a captive, would be likely to give a hint here as to which trail she was taken over?"

"That's prob'ble, liftinint," replied Weaver. "'F you'll hold th' boys here a bit, George an' I'll ride up th' two trails a piece an' look for signs."

"Go quite a distance, too. She might not get an opportunity to drop anything for some time after leaving the fork."

"That's true, sir," said Cooler; "the redskins would naturally be watching her closely. Which way will you go, Paul?"

"Let the liftinint say," answered the elder scout, tightening his belt and readjusting his equipments for resuming his riding.

"All ready, then," said I. "You take the right, Weaver, and George the left. While you are gone we'll turn out the stock."

The scouts departed, and a few moments later the horses of the command were cropping the rich grass of the narrow valley, sentinels were placed to watch them and look for the return of the guides, and the rest of the men threw themselves upon the turf to rest.

An hour passed away, when Weaver was seen returning from the northern trail. As he approached he held something above his head. Directing the horses to be made ready, I walked forward to meet him, and received from his hand a small bow of blue ribbon, which I at once recognized to be the property of Brenda.

It now appeared certain the girl captive had been taken over the road to the right; so, without waiting for the return of Cooler, the men were ordered into their saddles, and we started along the northern trail. Our march had not long continued, however, when Private Tom Clary, who was riding in the rear, called to me. Looking back, I saw the young scout galloping rapidly forward and waving his hat in a beckoning manner.

A halt was ordered, and Cooler rode up to me and placed in my hand a lock of flaxen hair, bound with a thread of the same. Placed by the other they were twin tresses, except that the last was slightly singed by fire.

Well, tears glistened on the eyelids of some of the bronzed veterans at the sight of the tiny lock of hair. We had barely escaped taking the wrong trail.

"God bliss the darlint," said grizzled Tom Clary. "There's not a ridskin can bate her with their tricks. We'll bring her back to her frinds, b'ys, or it'll go hard wid us."

Clary's remarks were subscribed to by many hearty exclamations on the part of his fellow-soldiers. We had no difficulty in understanding that the Apaches had expected to be pursued and had dropped the ribbon to mislead us, and that Brenda had dropped her "sign" to set her friends right.

I asked the guides if it was not probable the Apaches had set a watch on the overlooking heights to see which road we should take at this point.

"It's sartin', liftinint," answered Weaver; "they're watchin' us sharp jest now."

"Then we had better continue on the northern trail awhile and mislead them, you think?"

"That's it, liftinint. That's th' best thing to do. We needn't reach their camp until after midnight, an' we might 's well spend th' time misleadin' em."

"Yes, and it'll be better to reach them a few hours after midnight, too," added Cooler; "they sleep soundest then."

"Then we will go on as we began for some time longer," I replied, and the soldiers again moved at a brisk canter over the northern trail.

An hour passed, and a halt was made in a grassy nook, where the horses were turned out to graze until dusk. Our route was then retraced to the fork and the march resumed over the southern branch.

Night overtook us on a high ridge covered with loose, rounded bowlders, over which it was necessary to lead the horses slowly, with considerable clatter and some bruises to man and beast. The rough road lasted until a considerable descent was made on the western side, and ended on the edge of a grassy valley.

At this point Weaver advised that the horses should be left and the command proceed on foot; for if the Indians were in camp at the rapids it would be impossible to approach mounted without alarming them, while if on foot the noise of the rushing water would cover the sound of all movements.

Six men were sent back to a narrow defile to prevent the attacking party from being surprised by the detachment of Indians which had taken the northern trail, should they intend to rejoin their friends at the rapids. Upon the recommendation of the scouts I determined to defer making an attack until after three o'clock, for they assured me that at that time the enemy would be feeling quite secure from pursuit and be in their deepest sleep.

The horses were picketed, guards posted, and a lunch distributed, and all not on duty lay down to wait. Time dragged slowly. About one o'clock a noise on the opposite side of the creek attracted attention, and Cooler crept away in the darkness to ascertain its cause. In half an hour he returned with the information that the party of Mezcalleros who had taken the northern trail had rejoined their friends and turned their animals into the general herd. Upon learning this I despatched a messenger to call in the six men sent to guard the defile.

When the time for starting arrived one man only was left with the picketed horses, and the rest of us slipped down the slope to the river-bottom, taking care not to rattle arms and equipments, and began a slow advance along a narrow pathway, the borders of which were lined with the spiked vegetation of the country.

Moving on for some time, I judged from the sound of flowing water that we were nearing the camp, and, halting the party, sent the scouts to reconnoitre. They returned with the information that the camp was close at hand, and contained thirteen mat and skin covered tents, or huts, and that the stolen stock and Indian ponies were grazing on a flat just beyond. No guards were visible.

The flat about the encampment was covered with Spanish-bayonet, soapweed, and cacti, with here and there a variety of palmetto, which attains a height of about twenty-five feet, the trunks shaggy with a fringe of dead spines left by each year's growth. Cooler suggested that at a given signal the trunks of two of these trees should be set on fire to light up the camp, and enable the soldiers to pick off the Apaches as they left their shelter when our attack should begin. He also proposed that we yell, saying: "If you out-yell 'em, lieutenant, you can out-fight 'em."

Although I seriously doubted whether twenty-five white throats could make as much noise as half a dozen red ones, I consented to the proposition. I sent nine men to the flat upon which the ponies and cattle were grazing, with orders to place themselves between the creek and herd, and when the firing began drive the animals into the hills.

When these instructions had been given, Surgeon Coues asked me if the firing would be directed into the tents.

"Yes, doctor," I replied.

"Of course, Miss Brenda is in one of them," he observed.

"Yes, and if we shoot into them indiscriminately we are quite as likely to hit her as any one."

"Can you think of any way of locating her?"

"No; I am at a dead loss. We will try Cooler's plan of yelling, and perhaps that will bring the Indians out."

I sent Clary, who had been directed to remain near me, for Sergeant Rafferty, and when the sergeant appeared directed him to forbid any one to fire a shot until ordered to do so.