That night they bivouacked among the tanks under Diamond Butte. Next day, toward sunset, as the smoke from the little cook fire went sailing aloft from the bank of a mountain stream that came tumbling from the Black Mesa, another little column of smoke answered from among the pines far up the heights. An Indian touched the young soldier's sleeve and pointed. Another moment and he was up, blanket in hand and signalling. That night the escaped prisoner, whom all commanders of posts or detachments were ordered to arrest wherever found, stood erect in the firelight, clasping hands with his young leader—'Tonio, the Apache-Mohave, and 'Tonio had a stirring tale to tell.
Barely five days later still, Archer and his wife sat hand in hand in the cool veranda, taking the air. The sun was just down and the flag had just fluttered to its rest. From the open casement came the murmur of happy voices, one so very happy it thrilled their hearts. Across the barren parade the men were just breaking ranks after retreat inspection, and the officers were coming homeward, unbelting sword or sabre as they neared their doors, in the impatient fashion of the day. Strong, the adjutant, still precise and buckled, stalked up to his commander's steps, halted, saluted, and said: "All present, sir, and couriers coming up the valley."
Archer rose to his feet and reached for his binocular. Forgetful of supper, many men began to gather at the edge of the bluff over by the office. A brace of sergeants had clambered to the lookout, and Mrs. Stannard, eager ever for news from her husband, came hurrying to join her friends. Twilight faded with almost tropical suddenness, but not before the coming riders could be recognized as troopers, and Mrs. Stannard's heart was praying they might be her Luce's men.
"If you had your wish," said Archer, as he lowered the glass and turned to where the two friends stood, their arms entwining, "what would you ask for, Mrs. Stannard?"
"My husband, I suppose," was the answer, "and yet—I've been sitting hours by poor Mrs. Bennett this day," and the blue eyes began to fill.
"Heaven send us news of those little fellows soon," said Archer piously. "If not, I'm afraid her heart will break. Bentley says the faint hope is all that holds her. Listen to that!" he suddenly cried. "Listen!"
Far down beyond the store somebody had set up a shout. Then, as they stood with beating hearts and straining ears, from the store itself went up another—three, four voices in unison—a shout that set every man along the edge of the mesa to swinging his hat. But a veteran sergeant, Bonner's level-headed right bower, sprang among them, with uplifted hand and voice. "Quiet, men! Don't yell! Wait!" Then he came hurrying across the parade, straight to his post commander. "What is it, sergeant?" was the anxious query, and at the very moment the riders came wearily jogging over the brow of the hill.
"Couriers from General Crook, sir. They say the boys are found—safe."
Bentley was there almost as the foremost horseman sprang from saddle. "Not a word of it to her—yet!" said he. "Wait until we know exactly. Go you, sergeant, and tell the steward on no account to let any one disturb her." And by this time Archer had torn open the letter handed him, and Doyle had come running out with a lamp. The expressions that chased each other over the general's features as he hurriedly read would have baffled an actor: first rejoicing, then amaze, then perplexity, if not trouble. "Can you tell us, dear?" was the gentle query that recalled him.
"Read it—aloud," he said, and though her voice was tremulous, the tone was clear and the hush breathless. Even Lilian and her lover could hear every word.