Captain Stout and his party were out of sight up the Beaver
before the red eye of the morning came peering over the jagged heights
to the east, and looking in upon a garrison whose eyes were equally
red and bleary through lack of sleep--a garrison worn and haggard
through anxiety and distress gravely augmented by the events of the
night. All Sandy had been up and astir within five minutes after Norah
Shaughnessy's startling cry, and all Sandy asked with bated breath the
same question: How on earth happened it that this wounded waif of the
Apaches, this unknown Indian girl, dropped senseless at their doorway
in the dead hours of the night, should have in her possession the very
scarf worn by Mrs. Plume's nurse-companion, the Frenchwoman Elise, as
she came forth with her mistress to drive away from Sandy, as was her
hope, forever.
Prominent among those who had hastened down to Sudsville, after the
news of this discovery had gone buzzing through the line of officers'
quarters, was Janet Wren. Kate Sanders was staying with Angela, for
the girls seemed to find comfort in each other's presence and society.
Both had roused at sound of the clamor and were up and half dressed
when a passing hospital attendant hurriedly shouted to Miss Wren the
tidings. The girls, too, would have gone, but Aunt Janet sternly bade
them remain indoors.
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