my brother's, the light is mine."

"Lookin' on 'em up, I s'pect?"

"We shall take them, if we can."

"You see, I was right," continued Dick to his companion, in Spanish.
"They came here to take these horses."

"Then we better call for the prize, collect our stakes, and leave,"
said Juan.

"Where shall we go?" asked Dick. "Arizona's getting uncomfortable for
me, and your kin across the Mexican line don't love you."

"Valgame Dios, no! Let's cross the river and go to San Diego or Los
Angeles."

"Estar bueno. Come with us, youngster," he added, in English; "and
mind ye keep a quiet tongue in yer head or ye'll have no head to wag
it in after ye've spoke."

Henry followed the men to the head of the race-course, where they
received their prizes and winnings, and withdrew to the river-bank.
There they divided the money and held a conference.

"We'd better cross the river to-night and camp at El Rincon until
morning, and then strike for Dos Palmas and the coast."

"Shall we leave our monte and other stuff in town?" asked Juan.

"No; you stay here and take care of the boy, and I'll go back and sell
out. Anastacio Barela will buy. Look sharp that the young soldier does
not send a message by his dog. I heard lots of strange stories of her
performances in that line at Prescott. I will bring down something for
our supper and the road."

Dick galloped away, leaving the Mexican and Henry to await his return.
As the twilight deepened into darkness the boy's thoughts grew more
and more despondent. He now fully and sadly realized that his
disobedience of orders had brought disgrace upon himself, and ruined
every chance of recovering the ponies, for once the thieves got well
away they were secure from capture.

It was night when Dick returned and told the Mexican that he had made
an advantageous sale of their gambling outfit.

"Now, kid, ye kin slope," he said, addressing the disheartened lad.
"Tell the lieutenant that he kin look for us at Hermosilla, on the
other side of the Mexican bound'ry. Good-bye."

Henry hurried away towards La Paz, with Vic close at his heels. There
was no occasion for haste, for he felt that nothing in the town could
overtake the lost Sancho and Chiquita; still he hurried and stumbled
on in the darkness.

"Oh, Vicky," said the boy, in his misery, stooping to caress his
companion, "I ought to be court-martialled and dishonorably discharged
from the service for this. I have done very wrong. I