“The overland route does not lead directly through paradise, my dear Mrs. Stanley,” admitted Coronado with insinuating candor.  “But it is not as bad as has been represented.  I have never tried it.  I must rely upon the report of others.  Well, on learning that the isthmus would not do for you, I rushed off immediately to inquire about the overland.  I questioned Garcia’s teamsters.  I catechized some newly-arrived travellers.  I pumped dry every source of information.  The result is that the overland route will do.  No suffering; absolutely none; not a bit.  And no danger worth mentioning.  The Apaches are under a cloud.  Our American conquerors and fellow-citizens” (here he gently patted Thurstane on the shoulder-strap), “our Romans of the nineteenth century, they tranquillize the Apaches.  A child might walk from here to Fort Yuma without risking its little scalp.”

All this was said in the most light-hearted and airy manner conceivable.  Coronado waved and floated on zephyrs of fancy and fluency.  A butterfly or a humming-bird could not have talked more cheerily about flying over a parterre of flowers than he about traversing the North American desert.  And, with all this frivolous, imponderable grace, what an accent of verity he had!  He spoke of the teamsters as if he had actually conversed with them, and of the overland route as if he had been studiously gathering information concerning it.

“I believe that what you say about the Apaches is true,” observed Thurstane, a bit awkwardly.

Coronado smiled, tossed him a little bow, and murmured in the most cordial, genial way, “And the rest?”

“I beg pardon,” said the Lieutenant, reddening.  “I didn’t mean to cast doubt upon any of your statements, sir.”

Thurstane had the army tone; he meant to be punctiliously polite; perhaps he was a little stiff in his politeness.  But he was young, had had small practice in society, was somewhat hampered by modesty, and so sometimes made a blunder.  Such things annoyed him excessively; a breach of etiquette seemed something like a breach of orders; hadn’t meant to charge Coronado with drawing the long bow; couldn’t help coloring about it.  Didn’t think much of Coronado, but stood somewhat in awe of him, as being four years older in time and a dozen years older in the ways of the world.

“I only meant to say,” he continued, “that I have information concerning the Apaches which coincides with yours, sir.  They are quiet, at least for the present.  Indeed, I understand that Red Sleeve, or Manga Colorada, as you call him, is coming in with his band to make a treaty.”

“Admirable!” cried Coronado.  “Why not hire him to guarantee our safety?  Set a thief to catch a thief.  Why does not your Government do that sort of thing?  Let the Apaches protect the emigrants, and the United States pay the Apaches.  They would be the cheapest military force possible.  That is the way the Turks manage the desert Arabs.”