f left alone.

"Come, you ride, and we'll go to camp, then find water," suggested
Kit. "Camp here no good. Come help me find water."

That appeal penetrated the man's mind more clearly. Miguel had been
the well-trusted one of the Indian vaqueros, used to a certain
dependence put upon him, and he straightened his shoulders for a
task.

"_Si_ senor, a good padrone are you, and water it will be found for
you." He was about to mount when he halted, bewildered, and looked
about him as if in search.

"All--my people--" he said brokenly. "My children of me--my child!"

Kit knew that his most winning child lay newly covered under the sand
and stones he had gathered by moonlight to protect the grave from
coyotes.

But there was a rustle back of him and a black-eyed elf, little more
than a child, was standing close, shaking the sand from her hair.

"I am hearing you speak. I know it is you, and I come," she said.

It was Tula, the younger daughter of Miguel,--one who had carried them
water from the well on her steady head, and played with the babies on
the earthen floors at the pueblo of Palomitas.

But the childish humors were gone, and her face wore the Indian mask
of any age.

"Tell me," said Kit.

"It is at Palomitas. I was in the willows by the well when they came,
Juan Gonsalvo and El Aleman, and strange soldiers. All the women
scream and make battle, also the men, and that is when my father is
hurt in the head, that is when they are taking my mother, and Anita,
my sister. Some are hiding. And El Aleman and Juan Gonsalvo make the
count, and sent the men for search. That is how it was."

"Why do you say El Aleman?" asked Rhodes.

"I seeing him other time with Don Jose, and hearing how he talk. Also
Anita knowing him, and scream his name--'Don Adolf!'--when he catch
her. Juan Gonsalvo has a scarf tied over the face--all but the eyes,
but the Don Adolf has the face now covered with hairs and I seeing
him. They take all the people. My father is hurt, but lives. He tries
to follow and is much sick. My mother is there, and Anita, my sister,
is there. He thinks it better to find them--it is his head is sick. He
walks far beside me, and does not know me."

"You are hungry?"

She showed him a few grains of parched corn tied up in the corner of
her _manta_. "Water I have, and roots of the sand."

"Water," repeated Miguel mechanically. "Yes, I am the one who knows
where it comes. I am the one to show you."

The