ewhere down in the dark canon to the
south, a voice replied,--

"Down hyar. Something's coming up the road."

Surely enough. Probably a quarter-mile away a dim light as of a
swinging lantern could be seen following the winding of the rough and
rock-ribbed road. Then came the click of iron-shod hoofs, the crack of
the long mule-whip, and a resonant imprecation in Spanish levelled at
the invisible draught animals. Bounding lightly down the southward
path, Sergeant Wing soon reached the roadside, and there found Pike in
converse with a brace of horsemen.

"It's old Harvey's outfit, from Yuma, making for Moreno's," vouchsafed
the soldier.

"Oh, is that you, Sergeant Wing? I ought to have known you were here.
I'm Ned Harvey." And the taller horseman held out a hand, which Wing
grasped and shook with cordial fervor.

"Which way, Mr. Harvey, and who are with you?"

"Home to Tucson. My sisters are in the Concord behind us, going to
visit the old folks for a few weeks before their trip to Cuba."

"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Wing. "They're the first ladies to pass
through here since I came on duty at the station two months ago. You
stay at Moreno's, I suppose?"

"Yes; the governor meets us there with relays and four or five men. We
knew there would be no danger west of the Santa Maria."

"W-e-ll,--did you stop at Ceralvo's or see any of their people?"

"No, I never put in there. Father's very suspicious of that gang. Why
do you ask, though?"

Wing hesitated. "There was some story afloat about Apaches," he
finally said. "The paymaster's escort threw off a detachment towards
the Gila this morning, and I sent one of my two men back to Ceralvo's
to inquire. You must have met him."

"No, we made a circuit,--came by the old trail around the head of the
slough. We haven't passed anybody, have we, Tony?" he asked of the
silent horseman by his side.

"None, senor; but there were many hoof-trails leading to Ceralvo's,"
was the answer, in the Spanish tongue.

"Then you'll need water here, Mr. Harvey. It's a ten-mile pull across
to Moreno's," said Wing, as the four-mule team came laboring up to
the spot and willingly halted, the lantern at the forward axle slowly
settling into inertia from its pendulum-like swing.

"Where are we, Ned?" hailed a blithe young voice. Sweet and silvery it
sounded to the trooper's unaccustomed ears. "Surely not at Moreno's
yet?"

"Not yet, Paquita mia. Is Ruth awake? Tell her to poke that