With but a single orderly at his back, Mr. Blakely had left Camp Sandy
late at night; had reached the agency, twenty miles up stream, two
hours before the dawn and found young Bridger waiting for him. They
had not even a reliable interpreter now. Arahawa, "Washington
Charley," had been sent to the general at Camp McDowell. Lola's
father, with others of her kin, had taken Apache leave and gone in
search of the missing girl.
But between the sign language and the
patois of the mountains, a strange mixture of Spanish, English, and
Tonto Apache, the officers had managed, with the aid of their men, to
gather explanation of the fierce excitement prevailing all that
previous day among the Indians at the agency. There had been another
fight, a chase, a scattering of both pursuers and pursued. Most of the
troops were at last accounts camping in the rocks near Sunset Pass.
Two had been killed, several were wounded, three were missing, lost to
everybody. Even the Apaches swore they knew not where they were--a
sergeant, a trumpeter, and "Gran Capitan" himself--Captain Wren.
In the paling starlight of the coming day Blakely and Bridger plied
the reluctant Indians with questions in every form possible with
their limited knowledge of the sign language. Blakely, having spent so
many years on staff duty, had too little knowledge of practical
service in the field. Bridger was but a beginner at best. Together
they had decided on their course. A wire was sent to Sandy saying that
from all they could gather the rumors were probably true, but urging
that couriers be sent for Dick, the Cherry Creek settler, and Wales
Arnold, another pioneer who had lived long in Apache land and owned a
ranch on the little Beaver. They could get more out of the Indians
than could these soldiers. It would be hours after dawn before either
Dick or his fellow frontiersman could arrive. Meanwhile Sandy must
bear the suspense as well as it might. The next wire came from Bridger
at nine o'clock: Arnold arrived hour ago. Examined six. Says stories probably
true. Confident Wren not killed.
For answer Byrne wired that a detachment of a dozen men with three
packers had marched at five o'clock to report to Blakely for such duty
as he might require, and the answer came within the minute: Blakely gone. Started for Snow Lake 4.30. Left orders
detachment follow. Took orderly and two Apache Yuma scouts.
Byrne, Cutler, and Graham read with grave and anxious faces, but said
very little. It was Blakely's way.
And that was the last heard of the Bugologist for as much as a week.