“I may have been wrong as to the Apaches, sir, but I can’t be mistaken as to Moreno.  He’s in the pay of the Morales brothers, even if not an active member of the gang.  He is lurking in there now, I’ll warrant you, with two or three of them in hiding, waiting for the coming of the main body.  They’d ‘a’ been here before this, perhaps, if it hadn’t been for the Apache story.  They’re more afraid of one of Cochises’s band than of all the sheriffs from Tucson to Tacoma.  I wish the rest of Harvey’s people would get here,” he continued, looking longingly out into the darkness.  “Unless they are of better stuff than most of these mule-whackers in the Territory, you won’t catch them hustling out alone trying to find their master this night.  And yet, what use would they be to us?”

Plummer turned anxiously away and gave himself up to thought.  Nothing but a faint glimmer now remained of the beacon-light.  All was still as the grave about the lonely rancho.  Walking over to the eastward door he entered the dark room, and was instantly hailed by the voice of his clerk.

“You’re there, are you, Dawes?” he asked.  “Not getting sleepy, I hope.”

“Not a whit, major; I couldn’t, even if I hadn’t slept most of the day.  I’m sitting here on the safe with a Colt’s six-shooter in each hand.  If old Moreno’s door cracks, by gad!  I’ll let drive.”

“Well, that’s all right; but suppose they come around through the corral to this door?”

“I’m ready.  I came within an ace of blazing away at you, but I happened to recognize your figure and step just in the nick of time.”

A low whistle without broke up the colloquy.  Plummer waddled off in the direction of the sound.

“What is it, sergeant?”

“They’re coming, sir.  Harvey’s men, I mean.  Will you deliver his message?”

“Just as you say; why shouldn’t you?”

“It’ll have so much more effect from your lips, major.  They may misdoubt me.”

Far out on the trail the quick-tripping hoofs of mules could now be heard.  Presently a horseman shot up out of the gloom.

“Halt there!” sung out Feeny.  “Whose party’s this?”

“Harvey’s, Tucson.  Looking for Moreno’s.  Are we near?”

“You’re there now, but you can’t stop.  Mr. Harvey wants you to come right along after him.  He has taken the trail to the Christobal, where the Indians have carried off his daughters.”

The man fairly reeled in saddle, shocked at the dreadful tidings.

“When?—­how did it happen?  Who’s gone with him?”

“Some time this morning, from all we can learn.  Two squads of cavalry are on the trail, one with Ned Harvey, the other just out from here at dark.  The old man and George followed them as soon as they got in.  Who’s with you?”

“Two Mexicans, that’s all; they’re no account.  I’d best leave them here with the mules.  They’re just behind and have been scared to death already.”