There was a stirring scene at
bivouac when that order came, and with it the explanation that Angela
Wren had vanished and was probably captured; that Blakely had followed
and was probably killed. "They might shoot Blakely in fair fight,"
said Stout, who knew him, and knew the veneration that lived for him
in the hearts of the Indian leaders, "but they at least would never
butcher him in cold blood. Their unrestrained young men might do it."
Stout's awful dread, like that of every man and woman at Sandy, and
every soldier in the field, was for Angela. The news, too, had been
rushed to the general, and his orders were instant. "Find the chiefs
in the field," said he to his interpreter and guide. "Find Shield's
people, and say that if a hair of her head is injured I shall hunt
them down, braves, women, and children--I shall hunt them anyhow until
they surrender her unharmed."
But the Apaches were used to being hunted, and some of them really
liked the game. It was full of exhilaration and excitement, and not a
few chances to hunt and hit back. The threat conveyed no terror to the
renegades. It was to the Indians at the reservation that the tidings
brought dismay, yet even there, so said young Bridger, leaders and
followers swore they had no idea where the white maiden could be, much
less the young chief.
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