evaporated under a hot sun and in a dry atmosphere. A man named Tyson
has lately sunk a well thirty miles this side of La Paz."

"It was at Black Tanks the expressman saw Texas Dick and Juan Brincos
with our ponies," said Henry. "What a queer name that is!--Juan
Brincos, John Jumper, or Jumping Jack, as nearly every one calls him."

"He is well named; he has been jumping stock for some years."

"I thought Western people always hanged horse-thieves?"

"Not when they steal from government. Western people are too apt to
consider army mules and horses common property, and they suppose your
ponies belong to Uncle Sam."

"Frank," said Henry, just before the boys fell asleep that night, "I
felt almost sure we should recapture the ponies when I thought Vic was
going, but now I'm afraid we never shall see them again."

XII

INDIANS ON THE WAR-PATH

The following day we were so delayed by several minor affairs that we
did not begin our journey until the middle of the afternoon.

At the time of which I write there were but two wagon-roads out of
Prescott--one through Fort Whipple, which, several miles to the north,
divided into a road to the west, the one over which we had marched
from New Mexico, and a second which left in a northwesterly direction.
We took the latter, pursuing it along the east side of Granite Range
for eight miles, when we passed through a notch in the range to Mint
Creek, where the road made an acute angle and followed a generally
southwesterly course to La Paz.

We halted for the night at the creek, eight miles from the fort. Our
ambulance was provided with four seats--one in front for the driver,
fixed front and rear seats in the interior, with a movable middle
seat, the back of which could be let down so that it fitted the
interval between the others and afforded a fairly comfortable bed. On
the rack behind were carried the mess chest, provisions, and bedding,
and inside, under the seats, were the ammunition and some articles of
personal baggage. Beneath the axle swung a ten-gallon keg and a nest
of camp kettles.

While supper was being prepared the boys wandered about the reed-grass
in a fruitless search for some ducks they had seen settle in the
creek. Private Tom Clary, who was acting as our cook, having spread
our meal of fried bacon, bread, and coffee upon a blanket to the
windward of the fire, called them to supper. While sugaring and
stirring our coffee, the cook stood by the fir