spent what was so lightly won. Tucson and Yuma City were within
easy stage ride, even San Francisco had twice been found accessible.
Dashing associates of both sexes were ever at hand. The sudden turn of
the tide came with the order that broke up the supply camp, required him
to turn over his funds and stores to the quartermaster at Camp Cooke,
and report for duty in person at that post. Then came the expected
discovery of grievous shortages in both funds and property, the order
for the arrest of the delinquent officer and his trial by court-martial.
Colonel Turnbull, inspector-general of the department, was hurried out
from the shores of the Pacific to sit as one of the senior members of
the court. Lieutenant Loring, vainly striving along the Gila to find
some resemblance between its tracing on a government map and its
meanderings through the desert, was selected to perform the duties of
judge advocate. The court was authorized to sit without regard to hours,
and to sift the official career of the _protege_ of the house committee
of military affairs without regard to consequence, when that volatile
and accused person took matters into his own hands, and between the
setting and rising of the sun, disappeared from the brush, canvas and
adobe shelters of old Camp Cooke and left for parts unknown, taking with
him the best horse in the commanding officer's stable, and, as genius
has ever its followers, the admiration if not the regard of much of the
garrison.

But other followers were needed at once. "That man must be caught at any
cost, Loring," said the colonel. "No one begins to know the extent of
his rascalities, and you and Blake must catch him."

For answer the engineer took out his watch--it was just a quarter to
one--stepped out into the glare of the sunshine and gazed to the far
horizon. The plain to the east was flat as a board for many a mile and
well nigh as barren. Then he turned sharply on Sancho. "Dinner ready?"
he asked.

"In one--two minutes, Senor Capitan," responded the ranchman gravely,
conferring on the officer the brevet of courtesy.

Out in front of the ranch the old red stage, long since faded to a dun
color, stood baking in the burning rays. The mules had been taken into
the corral for water, fodder and shade. The driver was regaling himself
within the bar. The few loungers, smoking, but silent, seemed dozing the
noontide away. Loring stepped to the side of the vehicle and drew forth
a leather