“If another party of Navajos don’t jump them, sir.”

“Of course, the chances are against us, sergeant, but let us keep up our spirits and make a good fight.”

“I’ll do my best, sir, as I always have done, but this is a beastly hole to be caught in.”

“But why don’t you send Vic for help, Mr. Duncan?” asked Frank.

“Laddie, I believe you have saved us!  Thank you for the suggestion.  We’ll put the little girl’s education to a practical test.”

“What!  Going to send her to Jemez for the men?” asked Sergeant Cunningham.

“No; I hardly think I could make her understand our wishes in that direction, but there is no doubt she can be sent to camp.  She has done that many times.”

“Yes, sir, she’ll go to the valley,” said Frank.  “You know I sent her with a message to you from San Antonio Valley, six miles.  I wonder how far camp is from here?”

“’Bout nine miles,” replied the sergeant; “but she’ll do it, I think.  Look at her!”

Vic had come forward, and sat looking intelligently from one to the other of us while this discussion ran on.

“All right, little girl,” I said, patting and smoothing her silky coat, “you shall have a chance to help us after dusk.  Go and lie down now.”

The dog went to a corner and, lying down on Frank’s saddle-blanket, appeared to sleep; and while Corporal Frank took my place at a window I wrote a message to Sergeant Mulligan at the camp, describing our desperate situation and requesting him to send a detachment to our rescue.  I also prepared a flat, pine stick, and wrote upon it, in plain letters, “Examine her collar.”  I intended she should carry the stick in her mouth, as she had hitherto carried articles and messages, fearing she would not understand she was to go on an errand unless all the conditions of her education were observed.

During that day the Navajos simply showed their presence occasionally among the trees, far away on either flank.  We once heard the rapid strokes of an axe, as of chopping, and wondered what it could mean.  Nothing further happened till dusk.  Then I called Vic and attached the note to her collar, wrapped in a piece of my handkerchief.

“I think, sergeant,” I said, “we had better send our message before it gets darker and the Navajos close up nearer or the corporal lights his fire.”

“Yes, she can’t leave any too soon, sir, I think.  It’s going to be pokerish work for us before morning, and I shall be mighty glad to see a few of old Company F appear round that rock.”

After fastening the note securely in the dog’s collar, I placed the stick in her mouth and, opening the eastern door, said, “Now, little Vic, take that stick to the sergeant—­go!”

She turned from the doorway, crossed the room, and dropped the stick at Sergeant Cunningham’s feet.  The sergeant stooped, and placing his hand under her chin raised her head upward and laid his bronze cheek affectionately upon it.  “Well, Vicky,” he said, “there is but one sergeant in the world to you, and he is here, isn’t he?”