An atmosphere of peace ineffable surrounded old Camp Almy. The Indians lately infesting the neighborhood seemed to have gone away into the mountain fastnesses. Turner had pushed little scouting parties cautiously into the foothills to the west and the rugged country eastward across the stream. Others had ventured down to the Peak and scaled it in search of signal smokes or fires. Others still had explored the valley toward Dead Man's Canon, and back by way of Bennett's, without finding so much as a moccasin print. Even the Apache-Mohaves seemed to have gone from the neighborhood. Malloy with his chosen ten was still out, and a rumor was prevalent that their orders might keep them away some days, so no apprehension was felt at their continued absence. Another week was nearing an end. A runner, Hualpai, had come in from the far north-east, with despatches from Stannard. He was with General Crook and their comrades from the northward camps and stations. They had abundant supplies, had scattered and driven the Tontos, had made some prisoners of squaws and pappooses, who, even to the general, declared they knew not where the Bennett children had been hidden. The general was expecting to work southward along the Black Mesa to meet the column out from the Upper San Carlos under Major Randall ("Big Chief Jake," the aforementioned) and between them they meant to leave no stone unturned in the effort to find the boys. Stannard enclosed a letter for his bonny wife, and closed with a word by way of postscript over which Archer and the three B's found themselves pondering not a little. "Wish we had Harris and 'Tonio with us. Hope they are doing well. The general is anxious to meet and know them both."