“Look!  God be good to us, major!  It’s no lie.  The signal-fire’s blazing at the peak.”

II.

Late that night, with jaded steeds, a little troop of cavalry was pushing westward across the desert.  The young May moon was sinking to rest, its pure pallid light shining faintly in contrast with the ruddy glow of some distant beacon in the mountains beneath.  Ever since nightfall the rock buttress at the pass had been reflecting the lurid glare of the leaping flames as, time and again, unseen but busy hands heaped on fresh fuel and sent the sparks whirling in fiery eddies to the sky.  Languid and depressed after a long day’s battling with the fierce white sunshine, horses and men would gladly have spent the early hours of night dozing at their rude bivouac in the Christobal.  Ever since nine in the morning, after a long night march, they had sought such shade as the burning rocks might afford, scooping up the tepid water from the natural tanks at the bottom of the canon and thanking Providence it was not alkali.  The lieutenant commanding, a tall, wiry, keen-faced young fellow, had made the rounds of his camp at sunset, carefully picking up and scrutinizing the feet of his horses and sending the farrier to tack on here and there a starting shoe.  Gaunt and sunburned were his short-coupled California chargers, as were their tough-looking riders; fetlocks and beards were uniformly ragged; shoes of leather and shoes of iron showed equal wear.  A bronze-faced sergeant, silently following his young chief, watched him with inquiring eyes and waited for the decision that was to condemn the command to another night march across the desert, or remand them to rest until an hour or so before the dawn.

“How far did you say it was to Ceralvo’s, sergeant?”

“About twenty-two miles, west.”

“And to Moreno’s?”

“About fifteen, sir; off here.”  And the sergeant pointed out across the plain, lying like a dun-colored blanket far towards the southern horizon.

“We can get barley and water at both?”

“Plenty, sir.”

“The men would rather wait here, I suppose, until two or three o’clock?”

“Very much, sir; they haven’t been able to rest at all to-day.  I’ve fed out the last of the barley, though.”

The lieutenant reflected a moment, pensively studying the legs of the trumpeter’s horse.

“Is there any chance of Moreno’s people not having heard about the Apaches in the Christobal?”

“Hardly, sir; they are nearer the Tucson road than we are.  The stage must have gone through this morning early.  It’s nothing new anyhow.  I’ve never known the time when the Indians were not in the neighborhood of that range.  Moreno, too, is an old hand, sir.”