Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-08-17

| at the edge of the pool she halted. whirled
| about tore from her bosom a fat oblone
packet and hurled it at his feet; then with
| the dart of frightened deer, drove through
| the northward willows. Angela saw her
run blindly up the bank, 1eaping thence to
| the rocks below. bounding from one to an
other with the wild grace of the antelope.
/, Another instant and she had reached the
| opposite shore. and there tossing her arms
| wildly above her head. her black tresses
| streaming behind her. with a cry that was
| almost scream. she plunged into the heart
| OF the thfcket: the stubborn branches closed
| pehlnd her. and our Apache queen was
gone. AS they met had they parted by
| the waters of the pool.
| When Blakely turned again to Angela she,
| too. was gone. He found her a little later,
her arms twined about her pony's neck her
| face buried in his name, and sobbing as
| though her heart would break.
On soft, starlit evening within the
| week, no longer weeping, but leaning on
| Blakely's arm, Angela stood at the edge
| of the bluff, looking far out over the Red
| ROCK country to the northeast. The SEN
| try had reported distant signal fire, and
! several of the younger people had strolled
J out to see. Whatever it was that had
| caused the report had vanished by the
| time they reached the post, so, presently,
Kate Sanders started the homeward move.
| and now even the sentry had disappeared
| in the darkness When Angela, too. would
have returned. his arm restrained. She
| knew it would. She knew he had not
| spoken that evening at the willows because
! of her tears. She knew he had been pa
| tent forbearing, gentle, yet well she
knew he meant now to speak and wait no
| longer.
DO you remember he began, when I
said that some day 1 should tell you-but
| never your aunt-who it was that came to
my quarters that highland why she
Gamer" and though she sought to remove
her hand from his arm he would not let
it . go did tel, me-" she answered her eve
lids dropping.
II did? When?"
Though the face was downcast, the SEN
sitive lips began to CULVER with merriment
and mischief
1.-The same day you took me for-your
motherIand asked me to sing for ~ you -,
ing quickly toward her, What can you
mean?'
Just what say. You began as though
I were your sister, then your mother.
think perhaps, If we'd had another hour
together it would have been grandmother" |
She was shaking with suppressed laughter
now, or was it violent trembling, for his
heart, like hers, was bounding.
81 must indeed have been delirious,' he
answered now, not laughing, not even
smiling. He had possessed himself of that
other hand despite its fiuttering effort.
His voice was deep and grave and tremu- |
lous. 'I called you anything but what |
most longed to call you-what L pray COO
1 may call you, Angela-my wife,"
L'Envoi.
There was a wedding at Sandy that WIN
ter when Pat Mullins took his discharge,
and his land warrant. and claim up the
Beaver. and Norah Shaughnessy to wife.
There was another many a mile from
Sandy when the May blossoms were show
ering in the orchard of fair old home 4,
stead in the distant east, and then Neil
Blakely took his bride to see the land
of the leaP' after the little peep at the
lands that now she shared with him There
is one room in the beautiful old colonial
mansion that they soon learned to call
fathers. in anticipation of the time when
he should retire and come to hang the old
saber on the older mantel and spend MS
declining years with them. There is an
other, sacred to Aunt Janet, where sne
was often welcomed. a woman long since
reconciled to Angela's once OBNOXIOUS
hut ever devoted admirer. There were
some points In which Aunt Janet suffered
sore. She had views Of her own upon the
rearing and management Of children, ana
these views she did at first oppose to those
, of Angela, but not for long. In this, as IN
her choice of a husband, Angela had to
read her declaration of independence to the
elder woman. -
There is another room filled with relics Of
their frontier days-Indian weapons, blan-
kets, beadwork-and among these, In sort
Of shrine of its own, there hangs por-i
trait made by famous artist from a little,
tintype, taken by some wandering photog-
rapher about the old Apache reservation.
Wren wrote them, ere the regiment left
Arizona, that she who had been their res!
cuer and then so long disappeared finally
welded a young brave of the Chiricahua
band and went with him to Mexico. That
portrait is the only relic they have of a
never-forgotten Observation-Disclosures. their
(The end.)