Rescue Requited

A change had come over the spirit of Camp Sandy's dream. The garrison
that had gone to bed the previous night, leaving Natzie silent,
watchful, wistful at the post commander's door, had hardly a thought
that was not full of sympathy and admiration for her. Even women who
could not find it possible to speak of her probable relations with
Neil Blakely dwelt much in thought and word upon her superb devotion
and her generosity. That he had encouraged her passionate and almost
savage love for him there were few to doubt, whatsoever they might
find it possible to say. That men and women both regarded her as,
beyond compare, the heroic figure of the campaign there was none to
gainsay.

Even those who could not or did not talk of her at all felt
that such was the garrison verdict. There were no men, and but few
women, who would have condemned the doctor's act in leading her to
Blakely's bedside. Sandy had spoken of her all that wonderful evening
only to praise. It woke to hear the first tidings of the new day, and
to ask only What was the cause?--What had led to her wild, swift
vengeance? for Todd had in turn been carried to hospital, a
sore-stricken man. The night before Natzie was held a queen: now she
was held a captive.

It all happened so suddenly that even Plume, who witnessed the entire
incident, could not coherently explain it. Reveille was just over and
the men were going to breakfast when the major's voice was heard
shouting for the guard. Graham, first man to reach the scene, had
collided with Janet Wren, whimpering and unnerved, as he bounded into
the hallway. His first thought was that Plume's prophecy about the
knifing had come true, and that Blakely was the victim. His first
sight, when his eyes could do their office in that darkened room, was
of Blakely wresting something from the grasp of the Indian girl, whose
gaze was now riveted on that writhing object on the floor.