An Apache Princess

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An Apache Princess, by Charles King

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Title: An Apache Princess A Tale of the Indian Frontier
Author: Charles King
Illustrator: Frederic Remington and Edwin Willard Deming
Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19330]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration: THE FIGHT IN THE CA?ON]

AN APACHE PRINCESS
A Tale of the Indian Frontier

BY
GENERAL CHARLES KING
AUTHOR OF "A DAUGHTER OF THE SIOUX," "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," "FORT FRAYNE," "AN ARMY WIFE," ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY
FREDERIC REMINGTON
and
EDWIN WILLARD DEMING

NEW YORK THE HOBART COMPANY 1903
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY THE HOBART COMPANY.
* * * * *

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE MEETING BY THE WATERS,
CHAPTER II
SCOT VERSUS SAXON,
CHAPTER III
MOCCASIN TRACKS,
CHAPTER IV
A STRICKEN SENTRY,
CHAPTER V
THE CAPTAIN'S DEFIANCE,
CHAPTER VI
A FIND IN THE SANDS,
CHAPTER VII
"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT,"
CHAPTER VIII
"APACHE KNIVES DIG DEEP,"
CHAPTER IX
A CARPET KNIGHT, INDEED,
CHAPTER X
"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE NIGHT" AGAIN,
CHAPTER XI
A STOP--BY WIRE,
CHAPTER XII
FIRE!
CHAPTER XIII
WHOSE LETTERS?
CHAPTER XIV
AUNT JANET BRAVED,
CHAPTER XV
A CALL FOR HELP,
CHAPTER XVI
A RETURN TO COMMAND,
CHAPTER XVII
A STRANGE COMING,
CHAPTER XVIII
A STRANGER GOING,
CHAPTER XIX
BESIEGED,
CHAPTER XX
WHERE IS ANGELA?
CHAPTER XXI
OUR VANISHED PRINCESS,
CHAPTER XXII
SUSPENSE,
CHAPTER XXIII
AN APACHE QUEEN,
CHAPTER XXIV
THE MEETING AT SANDY,
CHAPTER XXV
RESCUE REQUITED,
CHAPTER XXVI
"WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE,"
CHAPTER XXVII
THE PARTING BY THE WATERS,
L'ENVOI
* * * * *

ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE
"NOW HALTING, DROPPING ON ONE KNEE TO FIRE,"
"BLAKELY LED 'EM ACROSS NO. 4'S POST,"
THE FIGHT IN THE CA?ON,
"INDIAN SIGNALS BEYOND POSSIBILITY OF A DOUBT,"
"THEN SLOWLY, THEY SAW HER RAISE HER RIGHT HAND, STILL CAUTIOUSLY HOLDING THE LITTLE MIRROR,"
"THEY HUSTLED HER PONY INTO A RAVINE,"
"NATZIE WRENCHED HER HAND FROM THAT OF BLAKELY, AND WITH THE SPRING OF A TIGRESS BOUNDED AWAY,"
* * * * *

AN APACHE PRINCESS
CHAPTER I
THE MEETING BY THE WATERS
Under the willows at the edge of the pool a young girl sat daydreaming, though the day was nearly done. All in the valley was wrapped in shadow, though the cliffs and turrets across the stream were resplendent in a radiance of slanting sunshine. Not a cloud tempered the fierce glare of the arching heavens or softened the sharp outline of neighboring peak or distant mountain chain. Not a whisper of breeze stirred the drooping foliage along the sandy shores or ruffled the liquid mirror surface. Not a sound, save drowsy hum of beetle or soft murmur of rippling waters, among the pebbly shallows below, broke the vast silence of the scene. The snow cap, gleaming at the northern horizon, lay one hundred miles away and looked but an easy one-day march. The black upheavals of the Matitzal, barring the southward valley, stood sullen and frowning along the Verde, jealous of the westward range that threw their rugged gorges into early shade. Above and below the still and placid pool and but a few miles distant, the pine-fringed, rocky hillsides came shouldering close to the stream, but fell away, forming a deep, semicircular basin toward the west, at the hub of which stood bolt-upright a tall, snowy flagstaff, its shred of bunting hanging limp and lifeless from the peak, and in the dull, dirt-colored buildings of adobe, ranged in rigid lines about the dull brown, flat-topped mesa, a thousand yards up stream above the pool, drowsed a little band of martial exiles, stationed here to keep the peace 'twixt scattered settlers and swarthy, swarming Apaches. The fort was their soldier home; the solitary girl a soldier's daughter.
She could hardly have been eighteen. Her long, slim figure, in its clinging riding habit, betrayed, despite roundness and supple grace, a certain immaturity. Her hands and feet were long and slender. Her sun-tanned cheek and neck were soft and rounded. Her mouth was delicately chiseled and the lips were pink as the heart of a Bridesmaid rose, but, being firmly closed, told no tale of the teeth within, without a peep at which one knew not whether the beauty of the sweet young face was really made or marred. Eyes, eyebrows, lashes, and a wealth of tumbling tresses of rich golden brown were all superb, but who could tell what might be the picture when she opened those pretty, curving lips to speak or smile? Speak she did not, even to the greyhounds stretched sprawling in the warm sands at her feet. Smile she could not, for the young heart was sore troubled.
Back in the thick of the willows she had left her pony, blinking lazily and switching his long tail to rid his flanks of humming insects, but never mustering energy enough to stamp a hoof or strain a thread of his horsehair riata. Both the long, lean, sprawling hounds lolled their red, dripping tongues and panted in the sullen heat. Even