"Is Mr. Broussard with the Colonel?" asked Major Harlow, in surprise. Until then, no one had spoken Broussard's name, or knew he was with Colonel Fortescue.
"I think so," replied Anita, "I was watching my father as he rode toward the main entrance and I saw Mr. Broussard join him and they rode off together."
When they reached the rugged mountain road, the horses, with rough-shod feet, scrambled up like cats. Now the searching party could not only see the blue smoke floating above their heads, but they perceived a delicate odor of burning fir branches. When they reached a spot in the pass where a bridle path diverged Gamechick halted, putting his nose to the ground as he stepped about and then throwing back his head in disappointment.
In the midst of the stillness came the sound of a voice; Broussard was trolling out a ballad in Spanish which he had learned in the far-off jungles of the Philippines. Mrs. Fortescue glanced at Anita. A brilliant smile and a warm blush illuminated the girl's face. The mother smiled; she knew the old, old story that Anita's violet eyes were telling.
Major Harlow raised a ringing cheer in which Sergeant McGillicuddy and the officers and troopers joined. An answering cheer came back. It was unnecessary then for Gamechick to show the way by galloping ahead.
Within five minutes the pass was full of cavalrymen. Mrs. Fortescue, down on her knees in the snow, was examining Colonel Fortescue's broken ankle. Anita, for once losing the quiet reserve that was hers by nature, was sitting by the Colonel, her arm around his neck, her cheek against his, and the tears were dropping on her cheeks.
"Oh, daddy," she was whispering, "I knew that something had happened to you and that I must come to you, and that was why I begged and prayed my mother to come with me, and now we have found you, we have found you!"
Colonel Fortescue drew the girl close to his strong beating heart for a brief moment.
"It is a very neat splint," said Mrs. Fortescue, rising to her feet and bestowing one of her brilliant smiles on Broussard. "Mr. Broussard is a capital surgeon."
"And a capital soldier," said the Colonel, quite clearly.