“And do you still believe there are no Apaches in this business?” asked the major.

“Not out north or west, sir; they’re thick enough ahead in the Santa Maria, but not to the north, not to the west; I can’t believe that.  Those Morales fellows know everything that is going on.  They knew that just about this time Ned Harvey was expected along escorting his sisters home.  They knew you had never seen him and could easily be made to believe the story.  Everything has been done to hold us back, first at Ceralvo’s and afterwards here, until they could gather all their gang in force sufficient to attack, then—­Hist! listen!  There’s hoofs now.  No, not out there, the other way, from the Tucson road, east.  God grant it’s some of our fellows coming back!  Keep watch here, major; I’ll run out and challenge.”

Hastily picking up a carbine as he passed the door, Feeny ran nimbly out across the sandy barren, disappearing in the darkness to the southeast.  Old Plummer’s heart beat like a hammer as he listened for the hail.  A moment more he could hear hoof-beats and the voices of men in low tones; then, low-toned too, but sharp and stern, Feeny’s challenge rose upon the night: 

“Who comes there?”

Instantly the invisible party halted, surprised; but with the promptness born of frontier experience, back came the answer: 

“Friends.”

“Who are you, and where from?”

“George Harvey and party from Tucson, looking for Moreno’s.  Who are you?”

“United States cavalry on escort duty.  How many in your party?”

“Only two here.  We were delayed by Apache signs in the Santa Maria.  The rest are some miles behind with relay mules.  Are we near the ranch?  What’s that light out to the west?”

“Never mind that now.  Dismount and come up alone, Mr. Harvey; I must recognize you first.”

Feeny wanted to gain time.  His brain was whirling.  Here was partial confirmation of the story told by the alleged Ned Harvey in the morning.  Here was the father coming with guard and relay mules to meet his children just as their morning visitor declared he was expected to do.  Was it possible after all that the tale was true,—­that the children were there at the Gila, making wide detour around Ceralvo’s and taking the northward route around that ill-favored ranch?  If so, what awful tidings had he to break!  Stout soldier that he was, Feeny felt that he was trembling from head to foot.  Up through the gloom strode a tall figure, fearless and confident.

“There’s no Irishman in all the Morales gang,” laughed the coming man, “and I know a cavalryman’s challenge when I hear it, and so honor it at once.  Where are you, sentry?”

“Here; this way,” answered Feeny, standing erect and peering sharply through the gloom.  “I’ve never met you, Mr. Harvey, but we all know you by reputation.  Just tell me your business and how you happen to be riding the desert this time of night and then I’ll tell you why I ask.”