Santa Lucia seemed to be under a cloud, in spite of the bright June weather. Vic grew more and more uneasy, and did not try to conceal it. She was not able to understand how her mother maintained such an external appearance of self-possession.

"I wish we had two letters a day from them," she exclaimed for the third or fourth time.

"One would satisfy me. Oh dear! Why can't we know something about them!" responded Mrs. Evans, and the broken serenity helped Vic.

Perhaps it was as well that no letter came, since any written from Cold Spring would have carried the dark tidings which Colonel Evans was bringing home with him.

Captain Moore made a push that morning straight across the desert, that he might reach water and pasturage before noon if possible. The sun was hot, and frequent halts were needful for the horses, but the forced march was made with perfect success.

"Well, boys," exclaimed the captain, at last, "I'm glad to see grass again."

"Seven hours," the sergeant responded, "is a sharp pull, captain; how far do you think we've come?"

"Twenty-five miles of gravel," said the captain. "There! Glad of that!"

A whoop from a Chiricahua scout, in advance, announced at that moment that water had been found. It was a tree-shaded pool, evidently fed by springs. Around it was a bit of forest, and outside of that were scattered patches of chaparral.

"Well on my way home!" groaned Colonel Evans, "and Cal is not with me."

Through all that weary ride Ping and Tah-nu-nu had plodded along cheerfully. They had talked with anybody who wished to have a chat, and had given no token of discontent. They did not look at all like a pair of plotters, but they had conferred much in their own tongue when no Chiricahua was within hearing. They had plenty of opportunities, for those three red-men had undergone a change. Even the story-teller had been moody and silent ever since the great spirit of the Manitou Water.

Although of another band, which had become nominally friendly to the pale-faces, the Chiricahuas were as much Apaches as were the Mescaleros, and had been every way as bitterly opposed to life on any Reservation. Their present friendship was with American blue-coats only, and not with Mexicans, and Kah-go-mish had smitten their old enemies in a way to merit their approbation. All that, and their traditions and superstitions, laid a capital foundation for the Manitou Water to work upon. To their minds they had been notified that it was "bad medicine" for them to do anything against Kah-go-mish upon his present war-path. If they were ever to kill him, it must be at some future time when things were going against him and his medicine was defective.

Stronger and stronger grew the pressure of the vague ideas that took possession of the minds of the three scouts. They even looked hard at the pool of water they now led their horses to, as if this also might present some supernatural tokens. They had been there before, and they now found nothing new, but they felt as if they did, and each in turn remarked, "Bad medicine." Something rippled the water away out in the middle. Perhaps it was a fish, perhaps it was a frog or a snake or a water-rat, or it may be that an old ripple had been tied up at the bottom and had just broke loose and come up for air. Whatever it may have been, the old story-teller winced when he saw it.

"Ugh!" he said. "More manitou. Chiricahua no fight Kah-go-mish. Bad medicine."

None of the white men overheard that remark, and none of them dreamed of watching Chiricahuas after what had occurred at the spring. The feud between the two bands was supposed to be more bitter than ever.

It was decided by Captain Moore that several miles must be added to the day's journey as soon as the horses had fed and were rested, in order that something might be done towards catching up with the possible movements of Kah-go-mish.

Ping and Tah-nu-nu mounted their ponies, but just before they did so the old Chiricahua came and seemed to be spinning to them some of his yarns. It must have had reference to the pool, for he pointed at it, and both of them nodded as if it were an interesting story.

No story of the past had been told, but one of the immediate future had been suggested. In fact, it was all carefully planned out, and all that remained was to act it out, for there was no one there to write it.

The intention of the cavalry and cowboys was to take things easy that afternoon, and they rode on in a long, straggling cavalcade, among groves of trees, reaches of grass, clumps of bushes, and occasional bits of rocky ground, while away to the south were evidently mountains such as Kah-go-mish led his band through after his great feat in the character of a log with a knot on it.

Up to this time Ping and Tah-nu-nu had hardly been separated for a moment, but now he seemed willing to lag towards the rear, talking with the old Chiricahua, while she rode forward with the others, as if she too had become a scout. If any white man had suspected them of a purpose of getting away, the suspicion disappeared when this was seen.

Colonel Evans had no suspicion concerning Tah-nu-nu or the two Chiricahuas, but he almost wanted to put away his thoughts of Cal, and he pushed his big black horse on alongside of her pony. There were flashes in her dark eyes and there were tightenings of her lips, and now and then she glanced right and left half excitedly. She drew her breath very hard and glanced at the Chiricahuas as she and the colonel rode past a rugged patch of craggy forest. His face was as if made of wood, but he said "Ugh!"The whip in Tah-nu-nu's hand fell sharply upon her pony's flank. It was a blow given in utter vexation, rather than purposely, but the pony sprang forward all the same. So did the big black, and the strong hand of Colonel Evans reined in the pony.

"No, Tah-nu-nu," he said, "you can't get away."

"Ping is the son of a great chief!" she exclaimed, angrily. "Got away! Whoop! Heap good! Tah-nu-nu stay! Die! No pale-face!"

She was intensely excited, her dark, regular features were flushed, and the colonel said to himself that she looked like another girl. All three of the Chiricahuas were with him at that moment. Not one of them took any notice of Tah-nu-nu's utterances, but the colonel straightened in the saddle. "Boys," he shouted to the nearest men behind him, "where's that young 'Pache? Go for him! The girl's been trying to escape!"

Men in blue uniforms and men in red shirts wheeled at once, shouting to others farther in the rear. The whole line wheeled and shouted and searched hither and thither, and not any were more active than were the three Chiricahuas.

It was all in vain. There was not a trace to be found of The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead.

Tah-nu-nu was suffering a terrible disappointment, and so was somebody else. Colonel Evans felt badly enough, but his caprice for a chat with Tah-nu-nu had prevented the superstitious Chiricahuas from entirely avoiding the "bad medicine" of Kah-go-mish. Part of it had been put away when the old story-teller, riding by Ping's side, had remarked, "Ugh! Heap bush." He came out of that bit of chaparral all alone, and, for some reason, Ping knew where he ought to expect a meeting with Tah-nu-nu. He did not at once walk his pony as the rest were doing, but galloped hard for quite a distance. He made a wide circuit in advance and at last dismounted upon the summit of a ledgy hill, among crags and forest trees. Here he could look down and see what occurred, and almost hear what was said as the cavalcade went by.

"Heap rock!" he had exclaimed. "Now Tah-nu-nu come."

Then he saw why she did not, could not come, and his disappointment was as bitter as any human disappointment well could be. A light which had grown in his dark young face faded from it. He hung his head almost listlessly as he wheeled his pony southward. He had escaped and he could not return into captivity, but Tah-nu-nu was still a prisoner. What should he say to Kah-go-mish and Wah-wah-o-be? That is, indeed, if he should succeed in finding his own perilous way to the lodges of his band.