"Thank Heaven!" in a man's tones, came clearly through the entrance, accompanied by a sudden outburst of sobs in girlish voices.
"We'll be there directly," spoke another man's voice—that of a stranger. "We've heard your horses' hoofs jarring the ground for some time, but we thought it safest to lay low until we were sure it wasn't redskins."
Then followed the sound of steps, accompanied by voices, sounding at the entrance, as a voice spoken in a long tube appears to be uttered at the listener's end. Some time elapsed before those who seemed so near appeared; but at last there emerged from the passage Mr. Arnold, two strange men, and three girls—but no Brenda.
"Where is Brenda, Mr. Arnold?" I asked.
"Heaven only knows, lieutenant. She gave herself up to the Apaches."
"Gave herself up to the Apaches! What do you mean?"
"That's precisely what she did, lieutenant," said one of the strangers, adding: "My name is Bartlett, from Hassayampa, and this is Mr. Gilbert, from Tucson. We were on our way from La Paz to Prescott and stopped here for a meal, and got corralled by the Indians. But about the girl Brenda: she took it into her head, after we got into the little fort, that unless some one could create a diversion to mislead the devils, we'd all lose our scalps."
"That beautiful young girl! Gave herself up to certain torture and death! Why did you allow it?"
"Allow it!" exclaimed Mr. Bartlett, indignantly. "I hope, lieutenant, you don't think so hard of me and my friend as to believe we'd have allowed it if we'd suspected what the plucky miss meant to do!"
"Tell me the circumstances, Mr. Bartlett," said I.