Peace everywhere.  Inside the fortress sleeping, cooking, mending of equipments, and cleaning of arms.  Over the plain mustangs filling themselves with grass and warriors searching for roots.  Not a movement worth heeding was made by the Apaches until the herders drove in their first relay of mules, when a dozen hungry braves lassoed the horse which Smith had shot, dragged him away to a safe distance, and proceeded to cut him up into steaks.  On seeing this, the Texan cursed himself to all the hells that were known to him.

“It’s the last time they’ll catch me butcherin’ for ’em,” he growled.  “If I can’t hit a man, I won’t shute.”

One more night in the Casa de Montezuma, with Thurstane for officer of the guard.  His arrangements were like Meyer’s:  the animals in the rear rooms of the Casa; Coronado’s squad in one of the outer rooms, and Meyer’s in the other; a sentry on the roof, and another in the plaza.  The only change was that, owing to scarcity of fuel, no watch-fires were built.  As Thurstane expected an attack, and as Indian assaults usually take place just before daybreak, he chose the first half of the night for his tour of sleep.  At one he was awakened by Sweeny, who was sergeant of his squad, Kelly being with Meyer and Shubert with Coronado.

“Well, Sweeny, anything stirring?” he asked.

“Divil a stir, Liftinant.”

“Did nothing happen during your guard?”

“Liftinant,” replied Sweeny, searching his memory for an incident which should prove his watchfulness—­“the moon went down.”

“I hope you didn’t interfere.”

“Liftinant, I thought it was none o’ my bizniss.”

“Send a man to relieve the sentry on the roof, and let him come down here.”

“I done it, Liftinant, before I throubled ye.  Where shall we slape?  Jist by the corner here?”

“No.  I’ll change that.  Two just inside of one doorway and two inside the other.  I’ll stay at the angle myself.”

Three hours passed as quietly as the wool-clad footsteps of the Grecian Fate.  Then, stealing through the profound darkness, came the faintest rustle imaginable.  It was not the noise of feet, but rather that of bodies slowly dragging through herbage, as if men were crawling or rolling toward the Casa.  Thurstane, not quite sure of his hearing, and unwilling to disturb the garrison without cause, cocked his revolver and listened intently.

Suddenly the sentry in the plaza fired, and, rushing in upon him, fell motionless at his feet, while the air was filled in an instant with the whistling of arrows, the trampling of running men, and the horrible quavering of the war-whoop.

CHAPTER XXIII.

At the noise of the Apache charge Thurstane sprang in two bounds to Coronado’s entrance, and threw himself inside of it with a shout of “Indians!”

It must be remembered that, while a doorway of the Casa was five feet in depth, it was only four feet wide at the base and less than thirty inches at the top, so that it was something in the way of a defile and easily defensible.  The moment Thurstane was inside, he placed himself behind one of the solid jambs of the opening, and presented both sabre and revolver.