Under such energetic supervision as that of Captain Sanders it
was believed that even Apache Yuma scouts could be made to accomplish
something, and that new heart would be given Wren's dispirited men.
By this time, too, if Blakely had not fallen into the hands of the
Apaches, he should have been joined by the intended escort, and, thus
strengthened, could either push on to the pass, or, if surrounded,
take up some strong position among the rocks and stand off his
assailants until found by his fellow-soldiers under Sanders. Moreover,
Byrne had caused report of the situation to be sent to the general via
Camp McDowell, and felt sure he would lose no time in directing the
scouting columns to head for the Sunset country. Scattered as were the
hostile Apaches, it was apparent that they were in greater force
northward, opposite the old reservation, than along the Mogollon Range
southeast of it. There was hope, activity, animation, among the little
camps and garrisons toward the broad valley of the Gila as the early
days of November wore away. Only here at Sandy was there suspense as
well as deep despond.
It was a starlit Sunday morning that Blakely rode away eastward from
the agency. It was Wednesday night when Sergeant Brewster's runners
came, and never a wink of sleep had they or their inquisitors until
Thursday was ushered in.
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