The mining-camp of Bonita was in Bonita Cañon among the Chiricahua Mountains, fifty miles to the south of Fort Grant. Sixteen miles from Bonita lay Fort Bowie. Here, at Bonita, was the military headquarters in the campaign against the hostiles. Grayson tried feverishly to secure further news from Bowie, only to discover that the telegraph-line had been cut. The message apprising him of the escape of Geronimo and his renegades, and of the overwhelming of the deserter’s escort, was the last one, barring a few details of military operations, to get through. Leaving word that he was to be apprised the moment communication with Bowie was reestablished, the colonel returned to his house. On his way he stopped at his office and wrote out some despatches. Then, sending his orderly for Captain Lund, he continued on to his home. The young ladies had retired from the porch, and the colonel paced it impatiently while waiting for Lund. When the captain appeared, the colonel acquainted him with the details of the message just received. “The telegraph-wire has been cut between here and Bowie, Lund,” finished the colonel crisply, “and there are important despatches to be sent to Bonita.” “I understand,” returned the captain. “I should be glad to volunteer----” “You will have your hands full, and so will the rest of us, guarding the water and protecting settlers in this vicinity. We know Geronimo, and his habit of striking quick and telling blows in widely separated places. Our work is mapped out for us, and our five troops are none too many. Can you suggest a reliable man to carry the despatches? It is dangerous work, and will take some one able to use his head as well as his heels.” “Sergeant Patterson is the man, colonel,” answered Lund promptly. “I’ll back him to make his way through any number of Apaches and bob up smiling at the far end of the trail.” “Just the man I would have selected. Have him report to me as soon as he can get ready.” Lund saluted and withdrew. The colonel went into the house. “What in the world is the matter?” clamored Mrs. Colonel. “It must be something mighty important, colonel, to keep you from supper. We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.” “Business first, supper afterward,” said the colonel. “What’s wrong?” “Renegade bucks have jumped the reservation at Fort Apache, that’s all.” Mrs. Colonel was all in a twitter in an instant. “Not Geronimo?” she fluttered. “Don’t tell me that Geronimo has----” “What’s Geronimo but a scoundrelly, skulking red ruffian? He’s no more to be feared than any other renegade.” But the very name of Geronimo carried with it a terror for Mrs. Colonel. She clasped her hands convulsively and collapsed into a chair. “Let’s get right out of here!” she wailed. “If we don’t, we’ll all be killed and scalped. Oh, dear! Colonel, aren’t you going to do something to save your family?” “My family is safe enough right here. Where’s Dell?” “I haven’t seen her, colonel, since----”