“None, senor; but there were many hoof-trails leading to Ceralvo’s,” was the answer, in the Spanish tongue.

“Then you’ll need water here, Mr. Harvey.  It’s a ten-mile pull across to Moreno’s,” said Wing, as the four-mule team came laboring up to the spot and willingly halted, the lantern at the forward axle slowly settling into inertia from its pendulum-like swing.

“Where are we, Ned?” hailed a blithe young voice.  Sweet and silvery it sounded to the trooper’s unaccustomed ears.  “Surely not at Moreno’s yet?”

“Not yet, Paquita mia.  Is Ruth awake?  Tell her to poke that curly pate of hers out of the door.  I want you to know Mr. Wing, Sergeant Wing, who has charge of the signal-station here.”

Almost instantly a slender hand, holding a little brass hurricane lantern, appeared at the opening, followed by a sweet, smiling face, while just behind it peered another, only a trifle older and more serious, yet every whit as pretty.  Wing raised his old felt hat and mentally cursed the luck that had sent him down there in his ragged shirt-sleeves.  Pike, the cynic, busied himself in getting the buckets from underneath the stout spring wagon, and bumped his head savagely against the trunk-laden boot as he emerged.

“I never dreamed of seeing ladies to-night,” laughed the sergeant.  “It’s the rarest sight in all the world here; but I remember you well when you came to Yuma last year.  That was when you were going to school at San Francisco, I believe.”

“That was when I was in short dresses and a long face, sergeant,” merrily answered the younger girl.  “I hated the idea of going there to school.  Fan, here, was willing enough, but I had never known anything but Arizona and Mexico.  All I could think of was that I was leaving home.”

“She was soon reconciled, Mr. Wing,” said Miss Harvey; “there were some very pleasant people on the steamer.”

“Oh, very pleasant for you, Fan, but what did they care for a chit of fourteen? You had lovely times, of course.”

“So did you, Ruth, from the very day Mr. Drummond helped you to catch your dolphin.”

“Ah! we were more than half-way to San Francisco then,” protested Miss Ruth, promptly, “and nobody had taken any notice of me whatever up to that minute.”

“Well, Mr. Drummond made up for lost time from that on,” laughed the elder sister.  “I never told of her, Ned,—­wasn’t I good?—­but Ruth lost her young heart to a cavalry cadet not a year out of the Point.”

“Is it our Lieutenant Drummond who was with you?” queried Wing.

“Oh, yes; why, to be sure, he is of your regiment.  He was going back to testify before some court at the Presidio, and—­wasn’t madame mean?—­she wouldn’t allow him to call on Ruth at the school, even when I promised to play chaperon and insure strict propriety and no flirting.”

Ruth Harvey had, with quick movement, uplifted a little hand to silence her sister, but the hand dropped, startled, and the color rushed to her face at Wing’s next words.