em
and are following close on their trail. How's Wing?"

She can only shake her head.

"He seems delirious every now and then; perhaps only because of so
much mental excitement and suffering. He is dozing now."

"Gallant fellow! What would we have done without him? I only wish we
had more like him. Think how all my detachment has become scattered.
If we had them here now I could push out and drive the Indians to the
rocks and far beyond all possibility of annoying you with their
racket. Of course you are safe from their missiles down here."

"Yes, _we_ are; but you and your soldiers, Mr. Drummond! Every shot
made me fear you were hit," cries poor little Ruth, her eyes filling,
her lips quivering. Then, just as Drummond is holding forth a hand,
perhaps it is an arm, too, she points up to the rock above where Walsh
is evidently exercised about something. He has dropped his gun, picked
up the glasses, and is gazing down the range to the south.

"Perhaps he sees some of our fellows coming for good this time. Four
of them tried it awhile ago, but were probably attacked some miles
below here and fell back on the main body. They'll be along before a
great while, and won't it be glorious if they bring back the safe and
all?" He says this by way of keeping up their spirits, then, once more
wearily, but full of pluck and purpose, he climbs the rugged path and
creeps to Walsh's side.

"Is it any of our men you see?" he whispers.

"Divil a wan, sir! it's more of thim infernal Apaches."

Drummond takes the glass and studies the dim and distant group with
the utmost care. Apaches beyond doubt, a dozen, and coming this way,
and these, too, have a couple of horses. Can they have overpowered his
men, ambushed and murdered them, then secured their mounts? Is the
whole Chiricahua tribe, reinforced by a swarm from the Sierra Blanca,
concentrating on him now? The silence about him is ominous. Not an
Indian has shown along the range for half an hour, and now these
fellows to the east are close to the copse. In less than twenty
minutes there will be five times his puny force around him. Is there
no hope of rescue?

Once more he turns to the east, across the shimmering glare of that
parched and tawny plain, and strains his eyes in vain effort to catch
sight of the longed-for column issuing from the opposite valley, but
it is hopeless. The hot sun beats down upon his bruised and aching
head and sears his bloodshot eyes. He raises his