Resentful of the sudden glare that caused her patient to shrink and
toss complainingly, Angela glanced up almost in rebuke, but was
stilled by the look and attitude of the young savage. He stood with
forefinger on his closed lips, bending excitedly toward her. He was
cautioning her to make no sound, even while his very coming brought
disturbance to her first thought--her fevered patient. Then, seeing
both rebuke and question in her big, troubled eyes, the young Indian
removed his finger and spoke two words: "Patchie come," and, rising,
she followed him out to the flat in front.
Natzie at the moment was still crouching close to the edge, gazing
intently over, one little brown hand nervously grasping the branch of
a stunted cedar, the other as nervously clutching the mirror. So
utterly absorbed was she that the hiss of warning, or perhaps of
hatred, with which Lola greeted the sudden coming of Angela, seemed to
fall unnoted on her ears. Lola, her black eyes snapping and her lips
compressed, glanced up at the white girl almost in fury. Natzie,
paying no heed whatever to what was occurring about her, knelt
breathless at her post, watching, eagerly watching. Then, slowly, they
saw her raise her right hand, still cautiously holding the little
mirror, face downward, and at sight of this the Apache boy could
scarcely control his trembling, and Lola, turning about, spoke some
furious words, in low, intense tone, that made him shrink back toward
the screen. Then the wild girl glared again at Angela, as though the
sight of her were unbearable, and, with as furious a gesture, sought
to drive her, too, again to the refuge of the dark cleft, but Angela
never stirred. Paying no heed to Lola, the daughter of the soldier
gazed only at the daughter of the chief, at Natzie, whose hand was
now level with the surface of the rock. The next instant, far to the
northwest flashed a slender beam of dazzling light, another--another.
An interval of a second or two, and still another flash. Angela could
see the tiny, nebulous dot, like will-'o-the-wisp, dancing far over
among the rocks across a gloomy gorge. She had never seen it before,
but knew it at a glance. The Indian girl was signaling to some of her
father's people far over toward the great reservation, and the tale
she told was that danger menaced. Angela could not know that it told
still more,--that danger menaced not only Natzie, daughter of one
warrior chief, and the chosen of another now among their heroic
dead--it threatened those whom she was pledged to protect, even
against her own people.