There lay
Wren, senseless and still between the lashed ribs of his litter. There
lay Blakely, smiling feebly and striving to hold forth a wasted hand,
but Arnold saw it not. Swiftly his eyes flitted from face to face,
from man to man, then searched the little knot of mules, sidelined and
nibbling at the stunted herbage in the glen. "I don't see Punch," he
faltered. "Wh-where's Miss Angela?"
CHAPTER XXI
OUR VANISHED PRINCESS
Then came a story told in fierce and excited whisperings, Arnold the
speaker, prompted sometimes by his companions; Stone, and the few
soldiers grouped about him, awe-stricken and dismayed. Blakely had
started up from his litter, his face white with an awful dread,
listening in wordless agony.
At six the previous morning, loping easily out from Sandy, Arnold's
people had reached the ranch and found the veteran colonel with his
orderlies impatiently waiting for them. These latter had had abundant
food and coffee and the colonel was fuming with impatience to move,
but Arnold's people had started on empty stomachs, counting on a
hearty breakfast at the ranch. Jose could have it ready in short
order. So Byrne, with his men, mounted and rode ahead on the trail of
the infantry, saying the rest could overtake him before he reached the
rocky and dangerous path over the first range.
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