“I’ve seen her!  I’ve seen the senorita!” he shouted as he clambered stiffly from the burro.

The three Americans stood rigid.

“Where?  How?  When?” came from three heat-cracked mouths.

The Mexican started to answer, but his throat was raw with alkali dust and his voice was scarcely audible.  DeWitt impatiently thrust a canteen into the little fellow’s hands.

“Hurry, for heaven’s sake!” he urged.

The Mexican took a deep draught.

“The night after you left I moved up into the peaks, intending to cross the range to lower pastures next day.  A big storm came up and I made camp.  Then an Indian in a blanket rode up to me and asked me if I was alone.  I sabed him at once.  ‘But yes, senor,’” I answered, “’except for the sheep!’”

“But Miss Tuttle!  The senorita!” shouted DeWitt.

The Mexican glanced at the tired blue eyes, the strained face, pityingly.

“She was well,” he answered.  “Be patient, senor.  Then there rode up another Indian, two squaws and what looked to be a young boy.  The Indian lifted the boy from the saddle so tenderly, senors.  And it was your senorita!  She did not look strong, yet I think the Indian is taking good care of her.  They sat by the fire till the storm was over.  The senorita ignored Kut-le as if he had been a dog.”

Porter clinched his teeth at this, while Jack murmured with a gleam of savage satisfaction in his eyes, “Old Rhoda!” But DeWitt only gnawed his lip, with his blue eyes on the Mexican.

“The Indian said I was to say nothing, but the senorita made him let me tell about you after I said I had seen you.  She—­she cried with happiness.  They rode away in a little while but I followed as long as I dared to leave my sheep.  They were going north.  I think they were in the railroad range the night you were with me, then doubled back.  I left my sheep the next day with the salt-boy who came up.  I tramped twenty miles to the rancho and got a burro and left word about the senorita.  Then I started on your trail.  Everyone I met I told.  I thought that my news was not worth much except that the senor there would be glad to know that the Indian is tender to his senorita.”

DeWitt turned to Porter and Newman.

“Friends, perhaps she is being taken care of!” he said.  “Perhaps that devil is trying to keep her health, at least.  God!  If nothing worse has befallen her!”

He stopped and drew his wrist across his forehead.  Something like tears shone in Jack’s eyes, and Porter coughed.  John turned to the Mexican and grasped the little fellow’s hand.

“My boy,” he said, “you’ll never regret this day’s work.  If you have a senorita you know what you have done for me!”

The Mexican looked up into DeWitt’s face seriously.

“I have one.  She has a dimple in her chin.”

John turned abruptly and stood staring into the desert while tears seared his eyes.  Billy hastily unpacked and gave Carlos and his burro the best that the outfit afforded.