An Apache Princess | Page 4

The regiment had marched into Arizona overland, few of the wives and
daughters with it. Angela, motherless since her seventh year, was at
school in the distant East, together with the daughters of the colonel
then commanding the regiment. They were older; were "finishing" that
summer, and had amazed that distinguished officer by demanding to be
allowed to join him with their mother. When they left the school
Angela could stand it no longer. She both telegraphed and wrote,
begging piteously to be permitted to accompany them on the long
journey by way of San Francisco, and so it had finally been settled. The
colonel's household were now at regimental headquarters up at Prescott,
and Angela was quite happy at Camp Sandy. She had been there barely
four weeks when Neil Blakely, pale, fragile-looking, and still far from
strong, went to report for duty at his captain's quarters and was met at
the threshold by his captain's daughter.
Expecting a girl friend, Kate Sanders, from "down the row," she had

rushed to welcome her, and well-nigh precipitated herself upon a
stranger in the natty undress uniform of the cavalry. Her instant blush
was something beautiful to see. Blakely said the proper things to
restore tranquillity; smilingly asked for her father, his captain; and,
while waiting for that warrior to finish shaving and come down to
receive him, was entertained by Miss Wren in the little army parlor.
Looking into her wondrous eyes and happy, blushing face, he forgot
that there was rancor between his troop commander and himself, until
the captain's stiff, unbending greeting reminded him. Thoughtless
people at the post, however, were laughing over the situation a week
thereafter. Neil Blakely, a squire of dames in San Francisco and other
cities when serving on staff duty, a society "swell" and clubman, had
obviously become deeply interested in this blithe young army girl,
without a cent to her name--with nothing but her beauty, native grace,
and sweet, sunshiny nature to commend her. And everyone hitherto had
said Neil Blakely would never marry in the army.
And there was one woman at Sandy who saw the symptoms with
jealous and jaundiced eyes--Clarice, wife of the major then
commanding the little "four-company" garrison. Other women took
much to heart the fact that Major Plume had cordially invited Blakely,
on his return from the agency, to be their guest until he could get
settled in his own quarters. The Plumes had rooms to spare--and no
children. The major was twelve years older than his wife, but women
said it often looked the other way. Mrs. Plume had aged very rapidly
after his sojourn on recruiting duty in St. Louis. Frontier commissariat
and cooking played hob with her digestion, said the major. Frontier
winds and water dealt havoc to her complexion, said the women. But
both complexion and digestion seemed to "take a brace," as irreverent
youth expressed it, when Neil Blakely came to Sandy and the major's
roof. True, he stayed but six and thirty hours and then moved into his
own domicile--quarters No. 7--after moving out a most reluctant junior.
Major Plume and Mrs. Plume had expected him, they were so kind as
to say, to choose a vacant half set, excellent for bachelor purposes,
under the roof that sheltered Captain Wren, Captain Wren's maiden
sister and housekeeper, and Angela, the captain's daughter. This set
adjoined the major's big central house, its south windows looking into

the major's north gallery. "It would be so neighborly and nice," said
Mrs. Plume. Instead, however, Mr. Blakely stood upon his prerogative
as a senior subaltern and "ranked out" Mr. and Mrs. Bridger and baby,
and these otherwise gentle folk, evicted and aggrieved, knowing naught
of Blakely from previous association, and seeing no reason why he
should wish to be at the far end of the row instead of the middle, with
his captain, where he properly belonged, deemed themselves the
objects of wanton and capricious treatment at his hands, and resented it
according to their opportunities. Bridger, being a soldier and
subordinate, had to take it out in soliloquy and swear-words, but his
impetuous little helpmate--being a woman, a wife and mother, set both
wits and tongue to work, and heaven help the man when woman has
both to turn upon him! In refusing the room and windows that looked
full-face into those of Mrs. Plume, Blakely had nettled her. In selecting
the quarters occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Bridger he had slightly
inconvenienced and sorely vexed the latter. With no incumbrances
whatever, with fine professional record, with personal traits and
reputation to make him enviable, with comparative wealth and, as a
rule, superlative health, Blakely started on his career as a subaltern at
Sandy with three serious handicaps,--the disfavor of his captain, who
knew and loved