The weird feeling of being up in those remote mountain passes, with but a handful of soldiers against the wary Apaches, the mysterious look of those black tree-trunks, upon which flickered the uncertain light of the camp-fire now dying, and from behind each one of which I imagined a red devil might be at that moment taking aim with his deadly arrow, all inspired me with fear such as I had never before known.
In the cyclone which had overtaken our good ship in mid-Atlantic, where we lay tossing about at the mercy of the waves for thirty-six long hours, I had expected to yield my body to the dark and grewsome depths of the ocean.

I had almost felt the cold arms of Death about me; but compared to the sickening dread of the cruel Apache, my fears then had been as naught.

Facing the inevitable at sea, I had closed my eyes and said good-bye to Life.

But in this mysterious darkness, every nerve, every sense, was keenly alive with terror.
Several of that small party around the camp-fire have gone from amongst us, but I venture to say that, of the few who are left, not one will deny that he shared in the vague apprehension which seized upon us.
Midnight found us still lingering around the dead ashes of the fire.
After going to our tent, Jack saw that I was frightened.

He said: "Don't worry, Martha, an Apache never was known to attack in the night," and after hearing many repetitions of this assertion, upon which I made him take his oath, I threw myself upon the bed.