is second enlistment."

"More fool he! The man who re-enlists in this Territory must be either
drunk or Dutch." And Pike relapsed into gloomy silence again, his eyes
fixed upon the faint flicker of the bar lights at Ceralvo's miles
away; but Wing only laughed again, and, still puffing away at his
pipe, went on down the winding trail to where in the deep shelter of
the rocky walls a pool of water lay gleaming. Here he threw himself
flat and, laying aside his precious pipe, drank long and eagerly; then
with sudden plunge doused his hot face in the cooling flood and came
up dripping.

"Thank the Lord I have no desert march to make to-day,--all on a
wild-goose chase," was his pious ejaculation. "What on earth could
have induced the paymaster to send a detachment over to the Gila?" He
took from his pocket a pencilled note and slowly twisted it in his
fingers. It was too dark to read, but in its soldierly brevity he
almost knew it by heart. "The major sent Donovan with half the escort
back to the Gila on an Apache scare this morning. They will probably
return your way, empty-handed. Signal if they have passed. Latham
knows your code and we have a good glass. Send man to Ceralvo's with
orders for them to join at once if they haven't come, and flag or
torch when they pass you. It's my belief they've gone there." This was
signed by Feeny, and over and again had Wing been speculating as to
what it all meant. When the escort with the ambulance and paymaster
went through before the dawn, Feeny had roused him to ask if anything
had been heard of Indians on the war-path between them and the Sonora
line, and the answer was both prompt and positive, "No." As for their
being north or north of west of his station, and up towards the Gila,
Wing scouted the suggestion. He wished, however, that Jackson were
back with such tidings as he had picked up at Ceralvo's. It was always
best to be prepared, even though this was some distance away from the
customary raiding-ground of the tribe.

Just then there came a hail from aloft. Pikey was shouting.

"All right," answered Wing, cheerily; "be there in a minute," and then
went springing up the trail as though the climb of four hundred feet
were a mere bagatelle. "What's up?--Jackson here?" he asked, short of
breath as he reached the little nook in which their brush-covered
tents were pitched. There was no reply.

"Pike. Oh-h, Pike! Where are you?" he called.

And presently, faint and far som