“I will addend to it, Leftenant,” replied Meyer with perfect calmness and with his mechanical salute.

“You may give Kelly the same instructions, confidentially.”

“Yes, Leftenant.”

Texas Smith, fifteen or twenty yards away, watched this dialogue with an interest which even his Indian-like stoicism could hardly conceal.  When the sergeant returned to the cooking-fire, he gave him a glance which was at once watchful and deprecatory, made place for him to sit down on a junk of adobe, and offered him a corn-shuck cigarito.  Meyer took it, saying, “Thank you, Schmidt,” and the two smoked in apparently amicable silence.

Nevertheless, Texas knew that his doom was sealed if murder should occur in the expedition; for, as to the protection of Coronado, he did not believe that that could avail against the uniform; and as to finding safety in flight, the cards there were evidently “stocked agin him.”  Indeed, what had quelled him more than anything else was the fear lest he should be driven out to take his luck among the Apaches.  Suppose that Thurstane had taken a fancy to swap him for that girl Pepita?  What a bright and cheerful fire there would have been for him before sundown!  How thoroughly the skin would have been peeled off his muscles!  What neat carving at his finger joints and toe joints!  Coarse, unimaginative, hardened, and beastly as Texas Smith was, his flesh crawled a little at the thought of it.  Presently it struck him that he had better do something to propitiate a man who could send him to encounter such a fate.

“Sergeant,” he said in his harsh, hollow croak of a voice.

“Well, Schmidt?”

“Them creeturs oughter browse outside.”

“So.  You are right, Schmidt.”

“If the Capm’ll let me have three good men, I’ll take ’em out.”

Meyer’s light-blue eyes, twinkling from under his sandy eyelashes, studied the face of the outlaw.

“I should zay it was a goot blan, Schmidt,” he decided.  “I’ll mention it to the leftenant.”

Thurstane, on being consulted, gave his consent.  Meyer detailed Shubert and two of the Mexican cattle-drivers to report to Smith for duty.  The Texan mounted his men on horses, separated one-third of the mules from the others, drove them out of the enclosure, and left them on the green hillside, while he pushed on a quarter of a mile into the plain and formed his line of four skirmishers.  When a few of the Apaches approached to see what was going on, he levelled his rifle, knocked over one of the horses, and sent the rest off capering.  After four or five hours he drove in his mules and took out another set.  The Indians could only interrupt his pastoral labors by making a general charge; and that would expose them to a fire from the ruin, against which they could not retaliate.  They thought it wise to make no trouble, and all day the foraging went on in peace.