fe with the 'Patchie
Mohaves."

That was what poor Bennett was saying not twelve hours earlier, and now
the homelike ranch had gone up in flames, and Bennett, wailed the dago,
lay butchered among the ruins. So, too, the negro. The Maricopa boys
had fled only, probably, to be run down and killed, but what had become
of the poor, helpless little wife and mother, with her bonny, blue-eyed
boys, God alone knew.

By this time half the enlisted strength of the post was up and out and
flocking to hear the tidings. Bentley, the surgeon, had shuffled over
in his slippered feet and was giving Dago first aid to the demoralized
in the shape of _aguardiente Americano_, that made him sputter and
sneeze, but speedily braced him. The adjutant hurried over to call the
commanding officer, passing Harris on the way, and Harris, already in
campaign dress, was hastening to the camp of his scouts. Turner, silent
and sombre, as was his wont, had elbowed his way through the throng and
stood glowering at Dago and the beetled-browed Munoz, as though
weighing them in mental balance, and finding both wanting. Mrs.
Stannard, through the blinds, had hailed the adjutant as he went
bounding by to say the captain would be out in a moment. Already
Wettstein had told them the fearful news. The adjutant stepped inside
the open hallway at the general's and banged on the swinging door of
the little front room, answered almost instantly by the subdued and
gentle voice of Mrs. Archer from the head of the stairs. The general
was sound asleep. Was it necessary to wake him?

Strong expected as much. Not once a month did that genial veteran
permit himself an over-indulgence, but, when he did, the quicker he
slept it off the better. He had taken his night-cap and turned in
betimes, so as to be up at reveille. But Strong knew what the "Old Man"
would say to him later if he failed to rouse him now. "It's immediate,
Mrs. Archer," said he. "We have bad news from Bennett's Ranch."

A pale, frightened, white little face had come peering over the
motherly shoulder at the moment, even whiter in the flickering light of
Mrs. Archer's candle, and at sound of the name there went up a low cry
of distress.

"Oh, Mr. Strong, is it Mrs. Bennett--or the boys?"

"We don't--know--yet, Miss Archer. The dago's here, scared to death;
galloped all the way with a story of an Indian raid. I'm hoping it
isn't as bad as he thinks. God forgive me the lie," he added under his
breath.