And here was a sight to make a soldier’s pulses bound.  Not a quarter-mile away the rocky, desolate gorge which they had been following since dawn opened out into a wide valley, bounded at the west by a range of rugged heights whose sides were bearded with a dark growth of stunted pine or cedar.  On each side of their path a tall, precipitous rock stood sentry over the entrance and framed the view of the valley beyond.  For full a mile ahead the trail swept straight away, descending gently to the valley level, and there, just pushing forth upon the wide expanse, with dots of horsemen on flank and front and rear, dimly seen through the hot dust-cloud rising in their wake, were the three wagons:  the foremost, with its white canvas top, was undoubtedly the new Concord; the second, a dingy mustard-yellow, the battered old ambulance of the paymaster; the third and last, with no cover at all, Moreno’s buck-board.  It was what was left of the notorious Morales gang, speeding with its plunder to some refuge in the rocky range across the farther valley.

Somewhere in the few evenings Drummond had spent in the garrisons of Lowell, Bowie, or Stoneman, he had heard mention of a mysterious hiding-place in the Cababi Mountains whither, when pressed by sheriffs’ posses, Pasqual Morales had been wont to flee with his chosen followers and there bid defiance to pursuit.  And now the young soldier saw at a glance that the chase was heading along a fairly well defined track straight for a dark, frowning gorge in the mountains some three or four miles ahead of them.  If allowed to gain that refuge it might be possible for Morales to successfully resist attack.  With quick decision Drummond turned to the men still seated in saddle.

“Dismount where you are, you two.  Reset all four saddles.  We mount again here, sergeant, and we’ll take the gallop as soon as the troop comes up.”

“It’s the only way, I believe, sir,” answered Lee, his eyes kindling, his lips quivering with pent excitement.  “Most of them will stampede, I reckon, if we strike them in the open.  But once they get among the rocks, we’d have no chance at all.”

Drummond merely nodded.  Field-glasses in hand he was closely studying the receding party, moving now at leisurely gait as though assured of safety.  His heart was beating hard, his blood was bounding in his veins.  He had had some lively brushes with the Indian foe, but no such scrimmage as this promised to be.  Never once had there been at stake anything to compare with what lay here before his eyes.  Sometimes in boyish day-dreams he had pictured to himself adventures of this character,—­the rescue of imperilled beauty from marauding foe; but never had he thought it possible that it would actually be his fortune to stand first in the field, riding to the rescue of the fair daughters of one of the oldest and most respected citizens of the Territory.  In view of their peril the paymaster’s stolen funds were not be considered.  Jim Drummond hardly