No doubt she was right, but she and Rita had a good long cry over it then, and probably more than one afterward.
As for Dolores, she came to the fort to say good-by, but neither Many Bears nor Red Wolf came with her.
"The heart of the great chief is sore," she said, "and he mourns for his pale-face daughter. Not want to speak."
Out from the gates of the fort that morning wheeled the cavalry escort of the waiting "train" of supply wagons and traders' "outfits," and behind the cavalry rode a little group of three.
The ladies of the garrison, with the Major and the rest, had said their last farewells at the gates, and the homeward journey had begun.
"Steve," said Murray, "are you a Lipan or an Apache to-day?"
"Seems to me that is all ever so long ago. I am white again."
"So am I. At one time I had little hope that I ever should be. I never would if I had not found Rita. Oh, my daughter!"
"Father! Father, see—there she is! Oh, Ni-ha-be!"
A swift and beautiful mustang was bounding toward them across the plain from a sort of cloud of wild-looking figures at a little distance, and on its back was a form they all knew well.