most at the door. "Do you mean he _would_
answer--that he would come in here?"

"If I may give my word that no one shall touch or harm him, he'll
come--if alive and able."

For a moment the general was silent. It was a grave question. In his
eyes and those of his officers, 'Tonio stood attainted practically with
treason. He had deserted in face of the enemy, joined forces with the
enemy, shot as an enemy, conspired and acted as an enemy. He deserved
to be hunted and shot down without trial, without mercy. Yet here was
this young soldier, who had known him best and longest, full of
boundless faith in him, demanding safe conduct for him on the honor of
an officer and gentleman. If Archer gave his word it would be flying in
the face of his entire command--what there was left of it, at
least--and Archer's word was a thing not to be lightly given. "I must
think of this awhile," said he. "It is a big proposition. You think
_you_ can reach him?"

"By night or day, sir, either; but it would have to be from the top of
Squadron Peak."

It was then late on Friday afternoon, the fifth day of what might he
called the siege. Not a signal had come from without, not a sign from
either command, not a symptom of surrounding Indian; yet a little party
sent to search the rookery down stream, where Case declared he'd been
entertaining the ghost of 'Patchie Sanchez, came back reporting that
fresh moccasin and mule tracks were plainly visible about the premises
and at the neighboring ford, also that the mule tracks led away back of
the Picacho, as everybody persisted in calling the peak--in spite of
the fact that from the north it presented no sharp point to the skies,
but rather a bold and rounded poll. Squadron Peak was more "sonorous
and appropriate," said the trooper who so named it, but now that
troopers were scarce at Almy, there were none to do it that reverence.

Old Sanchez--Jose--the former proprietor, had disappeared entirely, he
and his brace of henchmen, after somewhere digging a treasure pit in
the sand and therein "caching" their store of mescal, aguardiente, and
certain other illicit valuables. It was conjectured that he had fled to
the Verde Valley and taken refuge at McDowell until the storm blew
over. But Craney was more than curious as to Case's guest, the ghost,
and by Friday Case was sober and solemn and sick enough to be
cross-questioned without show of resentment. Craney went so far as to
ask Case wouldn't he lik