That night, after being fed and comforted until even an Indian could
eat no more, the messenger, a young Apache Mohave, wanted papel to
go to the agency, but Plume had other plans. "Take him down to
Shaughnessy's," said he to Truman, "and see if he knows that girl." So
take him they did, and at sight of his swarthy face the girl had given
a low cry of sudden, eager joy; then, as though reading warning in his
glance, turned her face away and would not talk. It was the play of
almost every Apache to understand no English whatever, yet Truman
could have sworn she understood when he asked her if she could guess
where Angela was in hiding. The Indian lad had shaken his head and
declared he knew nothing. The girl was dumb. Mrs. Bridger happened in
a moment later, coming down with Mrs. Sanders to see how the strange
patient was progressing. They stood in silence a moment, listening to
Truman's murmured words. Then Mrs. Bridger suddenly spoke. "Ask her if
she knows Natzie's cave," said she. "Natzie's cave," she repeated,
with emphasis, and the Indian girl guilelessly shook her head, and
then turned and covered her face with her hands.