ther, and we have been more or less together ever
since. He has often told me about you two fellows, so I feel as if I've
known you for a long while." He looked at Joe. "You must have had quite
an adventure with those desperadoes at the cave."

"I did have," answered Joe. "I hope my brother and the others round them
up. Do you know if they came anywhere near here?"

"No, they struck off on another trail--the one the quartermaster is
expected to use. You see, he is to come in to-morrow with that money."

"To-morrow! Then they'll have time to warn him."

"That depends upon circumstances. The quartermaster is an odd sort of a
fellow, and sometimes changes his mind about routes. He may come in the
way we expect, and he may take some entirely different trail."

"We can't say when Leeson will be back," put in Darry. "But it seems to
me it is our duty to stay here until he returns; don't you think so,
Joe?"

"I do, Darry. But he will probably be back before long."

It was only a few minutes later when one of the privates came forward
with the information that a man was coming through the underbrush
skirting the timber. It was Hank Leeson, and he held his mare to a walk,
for Nancy was all but exhausted.

"Mornin', lieutenant!" he called out, as he drew closer and saluted.
"Come for them boys, I reckon."

"I did, Leeson. They tell me you've been after the gang. What luck?"

Hank Leeson shook his head dubiously. "Reckon I didn't have any luck,
lieutenant. Got one shot, but if I hit it didn't count much. They had
the best o' me in the timber, and they got away, not only with the
hosses belonging to the boys an' Benson, but likewise with their own,
which they had tethered in a hollow not far away."

"Then our horses are gone!" cried Darry, his face falling.

"Thet's it, lad. I'm sorry, but I did my best."

"Oh, I don't blame you, Leeson. But--but if we haven't any horses, how
are we to get to the fort?"

"We'll take turns at carrying you," replied Lieutenant Carrol.

Hank Leeson was as worn out as his mare, and while one of the soldiers
cared for Nancy the old trapper sank down on his doorstep and told his
story. He had followed the desperadoes up hill and down for fifteen
miles, and gotten one shot at Fetter, which, he believed, had struck the
rascal in the arm. But the party had turned on the trail while passing
through a wide patch of timberland, and on coming out at the other side
he had been unable to locate t