“Any news?  Anything in sight—­of ours?” is Miss Harvey’s eager query.

“Not yet, but they’re bound to be along almost any minute now.  Some Apaches whom I could see coming across from the east have a wounded man with them.  It makes me hope our fellows have met and fought them and are following close on their trail.  How’s Wing?”

She can only shake her head.

“He seems delirious every now and then; perhaps only because of so much mental excitement and suffering.  He is dozing now.”

“Gallant fellow!  What would we have done without him?  I only wish we had more like him.  Think how all my detachment has become scattered.  If we had them here now I could push out and drive the Indians to the rocks and far beyond all possibility of annoying you with their racket.  Of course you are safe from their missiles down here.”

“Yes, we are; but you and your soldiers, Mr. Drummond!  Every shot made me fear you were hit,” cries poor little Ruth, her eyes filling, her lips quivering.  Then, just as Drummond is holding forth a hand, perhaps it is an arm, too, she points up to the rock above where Walsh is evidently exercised about something.  He has dropped his gun, picked up the glasses, and is gazing down the range to the south.

“Perhaps he sees some of our fellows coming for good this time.  Four of them tried it awhile ago, but were probably attacked some miles below here and fell back on the main body.  They’ll be along before a great while, and won’t it be glorious if they bring back the safe and all?” He says this by way of keeping up their spirits, then, once more wearily, but full of pluck and purpose, he climbs the rugged path and creeps to Walsh’s side.

“Is it any of our men you see?” he whispers.

“Divil a wan, sir! it’s more of thim infernal Apaches.”

Drummond takes the glass and studies the dim and distant group with the utmost care.  Apaches beyond doubt, a dozen, and coming this way, and these, too, have a couple of horses.  Can they have overpowered his men, ambushed and murdered them, then secured their mounts?  Is the whole Chiricahua tribe, reinforced by a swarm from the Sierra Blanca, concentrating on him now?  The silence about him is ominous.  Not an Indian has shown along the range for half an hour, and now these fellows to the east are close to the copse.  In less than twenty minutes there will be five times his puny force around him.  Is there no hope of rescue?

Once more he turns to the east, across the shimmering glare of that parched and tawny plain, and strains his eyes in vain effort to catch sight of the longed-for column issuing from the opposite valley, but it is hopeless.  The hot sun beats down upon his bruised and aching head and sears his bloodshot eyes.  He raises his hand in mute appeal to heaven, and at the instant there is a flash, a sharp report not thirty yards away, an angry spat as the leaden missile strikes the shelving top of his parapet and goes humming across the gorge, a stifled shriek from Ruth looking fearfully up from below, an Irish oath from Walsh as he whirls about to answer the shot, and Drummond can barely repress a little gasp.