“I am expecting my son and daughters coming up from Yuma.  We were to meet at Moreno’s this evening; but a scouting-party in the mountains warned us to hide until night, so we’re late.  Have they reached Moreno’s?  We must be close there.”

“You’re close enough to Moreno’s; it’s not a hundred yards back there; but that light across the valley is the warning beacon at Picacho.  They would hardly venture across knowing what that means.”

“Why, my God, man!” exclaimed Harvey, “that says the Apaches are out west of the Santa Maria or the Christobal.  Have you seen,—­have you heard anything of them?”

“For the love of God, sir, don’t ask me now.  Come to the ranch.  Major Plummer’s there,—­the paymaster.  He’ll tell you all we know.”

A moment more and, with glaring eyes, with agonized, ashen face, the Arizona merchant stood at the entrance of the ranch, clinging to the horse-rail for support, listening with gasping breath to Plummer’s faltering recital of the events of the morning.

“Are you sure it was my son,—­my Ned?” he moaned.

“I never saw him before, Mr. Harvey; but some of my men were sure, and old Moreno here—­”

The wooden shutter behind them swung open.  From the inner darkness Moreno’s voice, tremulous with sympathy and distress, fell upon their ears.

“Senor Harvey, my heart bleeds for you.  I saw him but an instant, but it was he,—­Senor Edward, your son.”

“God of heaven! and your men have gone, all of them?”

“All but Feeny here.”

“Northeast, towards the Christobal?”

“Yes; but stop one moment now, and look at this note.  Is it your son’s writing?” And Plummer produced the crumpled page while Feeny held the light.  Feverishly Harvey examined the scrawl, his hand trembling so hard he could not steady the paper.

“It is like enough,” he moaned.  “It was written in such mad haste.  My horse!” he cried, “and you come with me, George.  Send the others on our trail as soon as they get in.  Give me another pistol if you can,—­I have but one,—­and in God’s name order along the first troops that reach you.”

Then in less than a minute even the galloping hoofs had muffled their dull thunder in the darkness and distance.  With wild dread spurring him on, the father was gone to the rescue of his children, leaving old Plummer and his faithful sergeant shocked and nerveless at the ranch.

IV.

And now, with such confirmation of the truth of the story of an Apache raid, the paymaster thought it only right to release Moreno from the duress in which Sergeant Feeny had placed him.  When so old an inhabitant of Arizona as Mr. Harvey gave entire credence to the report; recognized the note as really his son’s handiwork and hastened at all speed to overtake the pursuers, what room for doubt could be left in the mind of a new-comer to the soil?  It was time, thought Plummer, to form an alliance, offensive and defensive, with the Mexican denizens of the ranch against the enemy common to both.  But again Feeny shook his head in solemn protest.