"I have the honor to report," wrote young Shavetail to the A.G.O.—through proper channels—"a sharp engagement wherein the enemy hindered the development of my flanking movement by—unusual brilliancy for native leaders—honor to suggest—deserter Fagan rumored to be in vicinity."
"Scouts report," wired Major Oakleaf, "two hours' ride southeast of camp, huge negro. Request description renegade Fagan."
"We're out gunnin' fer that big buck nigger answers to the name of Fagan," remarked Mountain Battery to Cavalry, borrowing back the "makings" and a match to boot. "He's seen up back here in the foot-hills last night."
"Wire through this mornin'," jeered Signal Corps, overhearing, "reportin' him up Cagayan way. An' yesterday he was down in Batangas. He sure must hike light."
"Well, he's a lively nigger, from all I hear," said Cavalry judicially. "Some one'll likely get hurt 'fore they get him."
"He'll maybe get hurt a little bit himself, just a shade, if this old girl falls on him," laughed Mountain Battery, patting the nose of the vicious little gun in the packsaddle. "Ho' still, you old mule-horse, you! Think I'll stand for you kickin' me?"
So the little armies marched and sweated, and the wires carried bulletins to every little post: "Inform troops and natives—renegade Fagan, deserter Fifty-fourth—very big black negro, age twenty-one, large bolo scar on breast—five hundred dollars, gold, alive or dead."
And all the while Fagan was living quietly with the girl who had been the chief cause of all his insubordination, in a little mountain village not fifty miles from the place where his ghost first rose and called for lighted candles.
The reports of his evil fame brought him no joy. "Why can't they let us alone," he complained to Patricia. "I never hurt them, and if they don't trouble us we won't trouble them. Eh, Patsí?" and he swept the slender girl up to his shoulder.
"Pooh," cried Patricia disdainfully, from her height. "What do we care for them! You will kill them all, won't you?" She pinched the great supporting arm with a sigh of satisfaction. "Hola, there's Enrique's cock fighting with Juan's. Let's go and watch them." And as they walked down the narrow grassy street, the people stepped aside with cheerful smiles, for all the world like the dusty pickaninnies on the levee when one of the heaven-born passes by.