some one
were idly walking to and fro.

"That's him!" Ellhorn whispered excitedly. "That's what I told him to
be doing at just this time! He's listening for us!" Ellhorn whistled
softly several bars of the same air, which were at once repeated from
within. Tuttle rode beside the wall and threw over it the end of his
lariat. He waited until the whistling ceased, and then, winding the
rope around the pommel, he struck home the spurs and the horse leaped
forward, straining to the work. It was a trained cow-pony, Mead's own
favorite "cutting-out" horse, and it answered with perfect will and
knowledge the urging of Tuttle's spurs. With a soft "f-s-s-t" the rope
wore over the top of the wall and Mead's tall form stood dimly
outlined behind the battlement of cactus. He untied the rope from his
waist, threw it to the ground, and with foot and fist thrust aside the
bristling, sharp-spined masses, dropped over the outer edge, hung at
full length by his hands for an instant, and landed in the soft earth
at the bottom.

They heard his name called inside the _patio_. It was the guard, who
had just missed him. As they quickly mounted there came over the wall
the sound of hurrying feet and the rapid conference of excited voices.
Mead shot his revolver into the air and Ellhorn, lifting his voice to
its loudest and fullest, sang:

"Come ope the west port and let us go free
To follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!"

"Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee!"

Spur met with flank and the three horses bounded forward, over the
fence of the Mexican's garden, and up the street at a breakneck
gallop. They clattered across the _acequia_ bridge and past Delarue's
place, where Mead, eagerly sweeping the house with a sidewise glance,
had a brief glimpse of a brightly lighted room. Instantly his memory
went back, as it had done a thousand times, to that day, more than a
year before, when he had stood at the door of that room and had first
seen Marguerite Delarue. As they galloped up the street the vision of
the room and of the girl came vividly back--the inviting, homelike
room, with its easy-chairs, its pictures and shaded lamps, its tables
with their tidy litter of papers and fancy work, its pillowed lounges,
and deep cushioned window-seats, and the tall, anxious-eyed girl with
the sick child in her arms, held close to her breast. Unconsciously he
turned his head, possessed for the moment by the vision, and looked
back at the dark mass of the house an