be the rule, these abandoned roughs were fighting to the last, selling their lives, as they called it, as dearly as possible.  From their rifles and from others the shots rained fast upon the troopers, but never seemed to check the charge.  The rush was glorious.  Drawing their revolvers now, for they carried no sabres, the soldiers fired as they rode down those would-be obstructers, and two poor wretches were flattened out upon the plain when the main body of the troop dashed by, making straight for the fleeing Concord with the white canvas top.  Drummond had not fired at all.  Every thought was concentrated on the occupants of the wagon.  Every shot might be needed when he got to them.  “Chester” was running grandly.  The designated four who were to follow the lieutenant were already over a hundred yards behind when, from the trail of the ambulance, from a little patch of cactus, there came a flash and report, and the beautiful horse swerved, reeled, but pushed gamely on.  Noting the spot, two of the following troopers emptied a cartridge into the clump, but left the lurking foe to be looked after later.  They were too close to the Concord to think of anything else,—­so close they could hear the cries and pleadings of a woman’s voice, the terrified scream of another, and then, all on a sudden, “Chester” pitched heavily forward, and, even as the wagon came to a sudden stand, the gallant steed rolled over and over, his rider underneath him.

When Lieutenant Drummond regained his senses he found himself unable to believe them.  Conscious at first only of being terribly bruised and shaken, he realized that he was being borne along in some wheeled vehicle, moving with slow and decorous pace over a soft yet unbeaten and irregular trail.  Conscious of fierce white light and heat about him on every side, he was aware of a moist, cool, dark bandage over his eyes that prevented him from seeing.  Striving to raise a hand to sweep the blinding cloth away, he met rebellion.  A sudden spasm of pain that made him wince, the quick contraction of his features, the low moan of distress, were answered instantly by a most surprising wail in a sweet girlish voice.

“Oh, Fanny, see how he suffers!  Can’t something be done?”

And then—­could he be mistaken?—­soft, slender fingers were caressing the close-cropped hair about his temples.  A glow of delight and rejoicing thrilled through his frame as he realized that the main object of the fierce and determined pursuit was accomplished, that the precious freight was rescued from the robber band, and that somehow—­somehow he himself was now a prisoner.