The interior of the ranch was still a smouldering furnace as four o’clock drew nigh.  Woods, weak and exhausted, had fallen into an uneasy sleep.  The trooper detailed to watch over old Plummer and Feeny and bathe their faces with cool water was nodding over his charge.  Here and there under the shed on the north side which the flames had not reached the men were dozing, or in low, awe-stricken tones, talking of the tragic events of the night.  Near the east gate, reverently and decently covered with the only shroud to be had, the newest of the saddle-blankets, lay the stiffening remains of poor Donovan and his comrade.  Lurking about the westward end of the enclosure, their beady eyes every now and then glittering in the fire-light, the Mexicans, men and boy, were smoking their everlasting papellitos, apparently indifferent to the fate that had deprived them of home and occupation.  One of the troopers had burrowed a hole in the sand, started a little cook fire, and was boiling some coffee in a tin quart mug.  Overhead and far down to the horizon, on every side the stars shone and sparkled through the vaporless skies.  Eastward towards the Christobal they were just beginning to pale when a faint voice was heard pleading for water.  Sergeant Butler sprang from his seat and hastened to where he had left Mr. Harvey but a few minutes before, still in deep and obstinate swoon.

“Water is it, sir?  Here you are!  I’m glad to see you picking up a little.  Mr. Drummond left this for you, too, sir.  He said you would maybe need it.”  And the sergeant raised the dizzy head and held a little flask to Harvey’s lips.

“Where is he?” at last the sufferer was able to gasp.

“Overhauling the outlaws, hand over fist, by this time, sir.  He has twenty good men at his back, and we’ll have the ladies safe to-night,—­see if we don’t.”

“Oh, God!” groaned the stricken brother, burying his face in his arms as the recollection of the fearful events of the night came crowding upon him.  For a moment he seemed to quiver and tremble in every limb, then with sudden effort raised his head and turned again, the blood trickling anew from a gash in his face as he did so.

“Give me more of that,” he moaned, stretching forth a trembling hand.  “More water, too.  Lend me a horse and your carbine.  I must go!  I must go!” But there his strength failed him, and grasping wildly at empty air, poor Harvey fell heavily back before the sergeant could interpose an arm to save.

“Don’t think of it, sir; you’re far too weak, and you’re not needed.  Never fear, the lieutenant and ‘C’ troop will do all that men can do.  They’ll bring the ladies safely back as soon as they’ve hung what’s left of that murdering gang.—­Hello!  That you, Fox?” he shouted, springing up as two or three horsemen came spurring in.

“It’s I,—­Wing,” was the answer in ringing tones.  “Fox is coming slower.  Quick now.  Is it so that that gang has run off the young ladies?”