ledges and around broken granite blocks, Lane coolly proceeded to drink
his coffee, and eat his lunch of hard bread and cold bacon-rind. After
he had finished, he gave a lump of sugar to each of his animals, and
pressed his cheek with an affectionate hug against the side of his
horse's head.

"Old girl," he said. "I'm sorry we can't take a parting drink, for I'm
afraid neither of us will reach our next water-hole. But you can count
on me that the red devils won't get you."

Then, going to his pack, he undid it, and took out a double handful of
yellow nuggets and a number of canvas bags. These he deposited in the
pot-hole, and, prying up the flat stone of the fireplace, laid it over
them, and covered the stone with embers.

"It's a ten to one shot that they finish me," he reflected; "but the
wages I've paid for by a year of hard work and absence from her side,
stay just as near Echo Allen as I can bring them alive, and, if there's
any truth in what they say about spirits disclosing in dreams the place
of buried treasure, with the chance of my getting them to her after I
am dead."

Taking the useless boulders from the edge of the cliff, but carefully,
so as not to expose himself to the fire of the Apaches, he piled them
on top of the upper wall in such a fashion as to form little turrets.
He left an opening in each, through which he could observe, in turn,
each point of the compass whence danger might be expected, and could
fire his Winchester without exposing himself. Then he began going from
post to post on a continuous round of self-imposed sentinel duty. "If
I could only climb the sahuaro," he thought, "and fly my red shirt as a
flag, to let the Rurales know I've flanked the enemy, it might hurry
them along in time to put a crimp in these devils before they get me.
But it'll have to be 'Hold the Fort' without any 'Oh, Say Can You See?'
business. Anyhow, I'm flying the rattlesnake flag of Bunker Hill,
'Don't Tread on Me!' Whether the Rurales see it or not, I've saved
their hides. If the Apaches had got to this fort first, gee, how they
would have crumpled up the Greasers as they came along the trail!"

Rendered thirsty by his exertions, Lane remembered the canteen in the
bisnaga, which he had forgotten among his other preparations for
defense. He cautiously reached his hand over the ledge, and secured
the precious vessel, but, as he was withdrawing it, PING! came a bullet
through the canteen, knocking it