Peaceful as was his rest, Drummond slept only an hour or so.  For months he had lived in the open air, “on the war-path” said his captain, a veteran who had won his spurs twice over in the war of the rebellion, and declared himself quite ready to take his ease now and let the youngsters see for themselves the hollowness of military glory.  Weariness and physical exhaustion had lent their claims, and despite bruises and many a pang, despite the realization of the presence of the fair girls whom his dash and energy had rescued from robber hands, the young fellow had dozed away into dreamland.  Why not?  The object of his mission was accomplished.  Fanny and Ruth Harvey were safe.  All that was left for the party to do now was rest in quiet until another morn, then it would be quite possible to start on the return without waiting for the coming of their friends.  Before sunset his men would be reassembled; they could have a long night’s sleep, and with the rising of the morrow’s sun, convoying their three wagons and their recaptured treasures, the little detachment would take the back track for the Tucson road, confident of meeting “old Harvey” and, probably, a doctor on the way.  He himself, though most in need of surgical attention when they reached the caves, had such confidence in the skill of Sergeant Wing as to feel that his arm was set as perfectly as could be done by almost any other practitioner, and before dropping off to sleep had quite determined that he would make the morning march in saddle.

Still, he could not sleep for any great length of time.  The instinct of vigilance and the sense of responsibility would not leave him.  In his half-dreaming, half-waking state, he once thought he heard a light foot-fall, and presently as he dozed with eyelids shut there came a soft touch upon his temple.  Lifting his hand he seized that of his visitor,—­Fanny Harvey.

“Why are you not resting?” he asked, “and where is Ruth?”

“Ruth is sleeping, as we hoped you might be.  ’Tired Nature’s sweet restorer’ is all you need, Mr. Drummond, yet you do not seem to have had more than a cat nap.  Twice I have stolen in here to see you, and then, though I was fearful of waking you, you slept peacefully through it all.”

“Well, I must have slept a couple of hours anyway, and I slept soundly until within the last few minutes.  Have none of the men got back yet, Miss Harvey?  Do you know what time it is?  I suppose Wing is sleeping.”

“Mr. Wing ought to be sleeping, but he isn’t.  The sentry—­Patterson I think they call him—­summoned him up to the lookout there in the rocks, oh, about an hour ago, and when the sergeant came back he mounted his horse and rode away down the canon.  He said there was something requiring his attention.  But you are to drink this chocolate and lie still.”

Drummond slowly strove to rise.  He was too anxious, too nervous, to remain where he was.

“And none of them have returned yet?” he asked.  “I cannot understand that.  No, please do not strive to detain me here.  I’m perfectly able to be up and about, and if Wing is gone it’s my business to look after things.”