into things."
For the first time Phoebe Larkin seemed conscious of her scanty attire. Mrs. Glore found a blanket that was not too wet and drew it about Phoebe's shoulders. Even in the warm sun the girl shivered.
"There, there!" Mrs. Glore soothed. "It's only the after-effects of your dreadful experience! Come sit with me on that box under the tree."
Phoebe accepted the blanket, and an opportunity for the last word.
"Mr. Drumm," she said bitterly, "whatever you think of me, I must say—you're a damned cold fish! I heard Englishmen were like that, but so far I never had the bad luck to meet up with one!" Tossing her head, she turned her back on him and went to sit with Mrs. Glore.
Discouragement only brought out the stubbornness in Jack Drumm's character. While Phoebe sullenly watched, and Mrs. Glore searched downstream for enough unspoiled food to nourish them, he and the valet worked to bring order out of chaos. Noontide came and went, and they were sweating and exhausted. In the late afternoon Mrs. Glore squinted into the distance and pointed.
"There! Do you see that? Something is coming—a stage, maybe —or wagons!"
In the distance they could see a plume of dust in the mouth of Centinela Canyon. Drumm snatched up his spyglass. Shaking water from it, he focused on the distant disturbance: wagons, several wagons, escorted by a patrol of cavalry.
"Thank God!" Mrs. Glore said. "Now maybe we can leave this Godforsaken place and travel to Prescott, like we planned!" She glanced at Jack Drumm. "No offense meant—you've been kind and helpful, Mr. Drumm. But there
is
Phoebe's Uncle Buell in Prescott! He'll be worried."
"That's right," Phoebe Larkin agreed, tossing her head. "I'm anxious to mingle with some kind and understanding people for a change!"
Safely out of the canyon, the train crawled forward while the cavalry escort galloped toward Drumm's camp. Moments later Lieutenant George Dunaway reined up his mount and dismounted, hat in hand as he spied Miss Phoebe Larkin.
"Well, Drumm!" He looked at the wreckage of the camp. "What in hell—pardon, ladies—what happened here?"
"Apaches!" Drumm said sourly. "After we left you, Agustín and his bullies attacked us and ran off all our animals, except that one mule over there. Then, early this morning, a flood came down the mountain and overran the camp." He stared at Dunaway. "What's so damned funny?"
The lieutenant preened his mustache. "Didn't you see the storm over the mountain last night? No one but a greenhorn would camp in the middle of the Agua Fria this time of year!" He bowed to the ladies. "Introduce me, will you?"
Jack Drumm was annoyed with Dunaway's flippancy but muttered an introduction. "The ladies," he explained, "were going to Prescott on the stage. But when it was forced to turn back because of Apaches, they chose to stay here and wait for other transportation."
"I know," Dunaway said. At his gesture the men dismounted and lay wearily on the ground, munching hardtack and cold bacon. "Passed old Coogan and the California and Arizona Stage Line coach yesterday, hightailing it back to Phoenix. Sam Valentine said to take care of the ladies." Hat in hand, he approached Miss Phoebe Larkin. "Ma'am, the accommodations are kind of rough, but there's room for you and your friend in one of the freight wagons yonder if you want to travel to Prescott."
Phoebe Larkin seemed to bat her blue eyes at Dunaway, which annoyed Jack Drumm further.
"What about us?" he demanded. "And our equipment?"
Dunaway fondled his mustache and grinned. "If there's room. Ladies first, you know!"
"Have you got the Apaches put down, Lieutenant?" Phoebe Larkin asked. "I shouldn't like to be scalped before I see Uncle Buell in Prescott!" She laughed, looking charmingly at Dunaway.
"Not exactly, ma'am. Eighth Infantry sent a company out from Camp McDowell, and other forces will be here in a few days. But my B Company has hazed Agustín pretty well into the mountains already.
For the first time Phoebe Larkin seemed conscious of her scanty attire. Mrs. Glore found a blanket that was not too wet and drew it about Phoebe's shoulders. Even in the warm sun the girl shivered.
"There, there!" Mrs. Glore soothed. "It's only the after-effects of your dreadful experience! Come sit with me on that box under the tree."
Phoebe accepted the blanket, and an opportunity for the last word.
"Mr. Drumm," she said bitterly, "whatever you think of me, I must say—you're a damned cold fish! I heard Englishmen were like that, but so far I never had the bad luck to meet up with one!" Tossing her head, she turned her back on him and went to sit with Mrs. Glore.
Discouragement only brought out the stubbornness in Jack Drumm's character. While Phoebe sullenly watched, and Mrs. Glore searched downstream for enough unspoiled food to nourish them, he and the valet worked to bring order out of chaos. Noontide came and went, and they were sweating and exhausted. In the late afternoon Mrs. Glore squinted into the distance and pointed.
"There! Do you see that? Something is coming—a stage, maybe —or wagons!"
In the distance they could see a plume of dust in the mouth of Centinela Canyon. Drumm snatched up his spyglass. Shaking water from it, he focused on the distant disturbance: wagons, several wagons, escorted by a patrol of cavalry.
"Thank God!" Mrs. Glore said. "Now maybe we can leave this Godforsaken place and travel to Prescott, like we planned!" She glanced at Jack Drumm. "No offense meant—you've been kind and helpful, Mr. Drumm. But there
is
Phoebe's Uncle Buell in Prescott! He'll be worried."
"That's right," Phoebe Larkin agreed, tossing her head. "I'm anxious to mingle with some kind and understanding people for a change!"
Safely out of the canyon, the train crawled forward while the cavalry escort galloped toward Drumm's camp. Moments later Lieutenant George Dunaway reined up his mount and dismounted, hat in hand as he spied Miss Phoebe Larkin.
"Well, Drumm!" He looked at the wreckage of the camp. "What in hell—pardon, ladies—what happened here?"
"Apaches!" Drumm said sourly. "After we left you, Agustín and his bullies attacked us and ran off all our animals, except that one mule over there. Then, early this morning, a flood came down the mountain and overran the camp." He stared at Dunaway. "What's so damned funny?"
The lieutenant preened his mustache. "Didn't you see the storm over the mountain last night? No one but a greenhorn would camp in the middle of the Agua Fria this time of year!" He bowed to the ladies. "Introduce me, will you?"
Jack Drumm was annoyed with Dunaway's flippancy but muttered an introduction. "The ladies," he explained, "were going to Prescott on the stage. But when it was forced to turn back because of Apaches, they chose to stay here and wait for other transportation."
"I know," Dunaway said. At his gesture the men dismounted and lay wearily on the ground, munching hardtack and cold bacon. "Passed old Coogan and the California and Arizona Stage Line coach yesterday, hightailing it back to Phoenix. Sam Valentine said to take care of the ladies." Hat in hand, he approached Miss Phoebe Larkin. "Ma'am, the accommodations are kind of rough, but there's room for you and your friend in one of the freight wagons yonder if you want to travel to Prescott."
Phoebe Larkin seemed to bat her blue eyes at Dunaway, which annoyed Jack Drumm further.
"What about us?" he demanded. "And our equipment?"
Dunaway fondled his mustache and grinned. "If there's room. Ladies first, you know!"
"Have you got the Apaches put down, Lieutenant?" Phoebe Larkin asked. "I shouldn't like to be scalped before I see Uncle Buell in Prescott!" She laughed, looking charmingly at Dunaway.
"Not exactly, ma'am. Eighth Infantry sent a company out from Camp McDowell, and other forces will be here in a few days. But my B Company has hazed Agustín pretty well into the mountains already.
Similar Books
