Striving to move his head, he found it softly, warmly pillowed; but as he attempted to turn, it was held in place by two little hands, one on each side.  Then as he found his voice and faintly protested that he was all right and wanted to look about him, another hand quickly removed the bandage, and Fanny Harvey’s lovely face, pale and framed with much dishevelled hair, was bending anxiously over him; but a smile of hope, even of joy, was parting the soft lips as she saw the light of returning reason in his eyes.  At this same instant, too, the hands that supported his face were suddenly drawn away, and his pillow became unstable.  One quick glance told him the situation.  The seats of the Concord had been lifted out, blankets had been spread within; he was lying at full length, his aching head supported in Ruth Harvey’s lap.  Fanny, her elder sister, was seated facing him, but at his side.  No wonder Jim Drummond could not quite believe his senses.

It was Fanny who first recovered her self-poise.  Throwing back the hanging curtain at the side, she called aloud,—­

“Mr. Wing, come to us!  He’s conscious.”

And the next instant the slow motion of the wagon ceased, the door was wrenched open, and there in the glowing sunshine stood the tall sergeant whom he last had seen when scouting through Picacho Pass.

“Bravo, lieutenant!  You’re all right, though you must be in some pain.  Can you stand a little more?  We’re close to the caves now,—­cool water and cool shade not five hundred yards ahead.”

“How did you get here, sergeant?” Drummond weakly questioned.  “Where are the others?”

“Followed on your trail, sir, Private Pike and I. Most of the men are gathering up prisoners and plunder.  You’ve made the grandest haul in all the history of Arizona.  I got up only just in time to see the charge, and Pike’s now on his way back already with the good news.  We are taking you and the ladies to the refuge in the rocks where Morales and all his people have hid so long.  Old Moreno, with a lariat around his neck, is showing the way.”

“Got him, did you?  I’m glad of that.  There was another,—­a deserter from my troop; did you see anything of him?”

“I haven’t heard yet, sir.  One thing’s certain, old Pasqual is with his hopeful brother in another if not a better world.  ’Twas he that killed poor ‘Chester,’ the worst loss we’ve met.  Not a man is hit, and by daybreak to-morrow Dr. Day from Stoneman will be here to straighten you out, and these young ladies’ father here to thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drummond?  Ah, how can he or I ever begin to thank you and your brave fellows half enough?  I had lost all hope until that disguised bandit suddenly leaped from the wagon, and Ruth was swooning again, but she heard your voice before I did.  ’Twas she who saw your charge.”  And Fanny Harvey’s lips quivered as she spoke, and the voice that was so brave at the siege became weak and tremulous now.