il lost in the underbrush. A dozen shots
were fired over its head, and then the whole detachment wheeled and
came clattering down the trail in the direction of the camp. A single
riderless horse, evidently that of the fugitive, followed.

"Spread yourselves along the ridge, every man of you, and cover them as
they enter the gulch!" shouted the leader. "But not a shot until I give
the word. Scatter!"

The assemblage dispersed like a startled village of prairie dogs,
squatting behind every available bush and rock along the line of bluff.
The leader alone trotted quietly to the head of the gulch.

The nine cavalrymen came smartly up in twos, a young officer leading.
The single figure of Major Overstone opposed them with a command to
halt. Looking up, the young officer drew rein, said a word to his file
leader, and the four files closed in a compact square motionless on the
road. The young officer's unsworded hand hung quietly at his thigh,
the men's unslung carbines rested easily on their saddles. Yet at that
moment every man of them knew that they were covered by a hundred
rifles and shot guns leveled from every bush, and that they were caught
helplessly in a trap.

"Since when," said Major Overstone with an affectation of tone and
manner different from that in which he had addressed his previous
companions, "have the Ninth United States Cavalry helped to serve a
State court's pettifogging process?"

"We are hunting a deserter--a half-breed agent--who has just escaped
us," returned the officer. His voice was boyish--so, too, was his figure
in its slim, cadet-like smartness of belted tunic--but very quiet and
level, although his face was still flushed with the shock and shame of
his surprise.

The relaxation of relief went through the wrought and waiting camp. The
soldiers were not seeking THEM. Ready as these desperate men had been to
do their leader's bidding, they were well aware that a momentary victory
over the troopers would not pass unpunished, and meant the ultimate
dispersion of the camp. And quiet as these innocent invaders seemed
to be they would no doubt sell their lives dearly. The embattled
desperadoes glanced anxiously at their leader; the soldiers, on the
contrary, looked straight before them.

"Process or no process," said Major Overstone with a sneer, "you've
come to the last place to recover your deserter. We don't give up men in
Wynyard's Bar. And they didn't teach you at the Academy, sir, to st