Surgeon Coues, who reclined near me, asked:  “Do you think any of those fellows understand English?”

“Perhaps a few common phrases.  They know Spanish fairly well from living for some centuries near the Mexicans.”

“Are they quite as old as that, lieutenant?”

“You know what I mean, doctor.”

“Why not speak to Brenda in English, and ask her to try to show us where she is?  The Apaches will not understand—­will think you are talking to your men.”

“An excellent idea, doctor.  I’ll try it.”

Private Tom Clary was sent along both flanks with orders for all yelling to cease and for perfect quiet to be maintained.  Then, acting upon the surgeon’s suggestion, I called, in a clear, loud voice: 

“Brenda, we are here—­your friends from the fort.  Your relatives are safe.  Try to make a signal, or do something by which we can learn where you are.  Take plenty of time, and do nothing to endanger your life.”

A long silence ensued, during which two more pillars of fire burned out.  I was beginning to fear I should be obliged to offer terms to the Indians, leaving them unhurt if they would yield up their captive and the stolen stock; but before I had fully considered this alternative Clary, who was returning along the rear of the line of tents from his recent errand, approached and said:  “Liftinint, as I was crapin’ along behoind th’ wiggies I saw somethin’ loike a purty white hand stickin’ out from undher th’ edge of th’ third from this ind.”

“Show it to me,” said I.  “I’ll go with you.”

Making a slight detour to the rear, the soldier and I crept up to the back of the tent indicated, pausing at a distance of twenty feet from it.

Nothing definite could be made out in the darkness.  A narrow, white object was visible beneath the lower edge.  Sending Clary back a few yards to light up a palm, I fixed my eyes on the object mentioned, and as the flames leaped up the trunk perceived by the flaring light a small, white hand, holding in its fingers the loose tresses of Brenda’s hair.  The question was settled.  The captive girl was in the third tent from the right of the line.

Waiting until the fire went out, Clary and I made our way back to our former station.

“Go around the lines again, Clary, and tell Sergeant Rafferty to move his men to a point from which he can cover the rear of the camp, and open fire on all the tents except the third from the right.”

“All roight, sor; th’ b’ys ‘ll soon mak’ it loively for th’ rids.”

“Tell the sergeant to light up some trees.”

“Yes, sor.”

I then crept slowly back to my own flank, and ordered a disposition of my half of the party so as to command the space in front of the line of tents.  In another instant the flames were ascending two tree-trunks, and the rapid cracking of rifles broke our long reserve.  With the first scream of a bullet through their flimsy shelters the Indians leaped out and ran for the river.  Few fell.  Rapid zigzags and the swinging of blankets and arms as they ran confused the aim of the soldiers.  In less than five minutes the last Apache was out of sight, and the firing had ceased.