in with the news that no
re-enforcements for Fort Carson were within forty miles of the latter
place.

"Gilroy and White Ox will be glad to hear our news," said one of the
crowd. "They've been afraid all along Colonel Fairfield had sent out for
aid."

Not stopping to hear anything further, old Benson crawled back to the
place where he had left the others.

"We must capture those men, dead or alive," he said. "If they carry
their news to the enemy there will be another attack on the fort within
an hour."

Leaving the drum, bugle, and remaining rockets in a safe place, our
friends advanced until all could see the three desperadoes quite
plainly.

One of the fellows was unknown to Joe, but the others were Gus Fetter
and Nat Potts.

The desperadoes had placed their rifles against a tree, and old Benson
motioned to the boys to secure the weapons.

As Joe grabbed up two of the firearms and Darry the third, the
desperadoes leaped to their feet in alarm.

"Hands up!" sang out old Benson. "Hands up, or you are all dead men!"

The scout's rifle was raised, and so were the weapons of Cass and
Bernstein, and the desperadoes found themselves at a disadvantage.

Yet Fetter was game, and he quickly reached for a pistol hanging in his
belt.

But the movement, quick as it was, was not quick enough for Bernstein,
and as the regular's rifle rang out Fetter fell headlong across the
camp-fire.

"Do you surrender?" asked old Benson.

"Yes," came from Potts, sulkily, and his companion said the same. In the
meantime Fetter had rolled from the camp-fire and was breathing his last
at Potts' feet.

The sight was a thrilling one, and caused Joe and Darry to shudder.

"Can't I do something for that poor wretch?" asked Joe, of Benson, but
before the old scout could answer Fetter breathed his last.

In a few minutes more Potts was made a close prisoner.

While he was being tied up, the third man made a quick leap into the
woods.

"After him!" cried Benson, and Cass and Bernstein did as commanded. Soon
the desperado and the two regulars were out of sight and hearing.

CHAPTER XXXI.

BURNING OF THE STOCKADE.

"What will you do with him?" asked Joe of Benson, as he pointed to Nat
Potts.

"Don't be hard on me," pleaded Potts. "I meant you no harm."

"You ought to be hung," grunted the old scout. "You aint fit to live and
you know it, Potts. You could make an honest living if you wanted to,
but you would rather ch