and shaven, which she was in vain attempting to take between her sealed jaws.  Frank understood the matter at once.  Whenever Victoriana was sent on a message she was given a stick to deliver.  It was plain that some one had sent her to either Frank or me.  Of course, it could have been no one but Henry.  She had come thus far, and had stepped into a bed of cholla.  In trying to remove the needles from her feet she had absolutely sealed her mouth; in the attempt to recover the chip she had made the movements that had attracted the boy’s attention.

Nothing was written on the stick.  Around the dog’s neck was tied a cravat of dirty buck-skin.  Untying and opening it, Frank found the inner surface covered with writing, evidently traced in berry-juice with a quill or a stick.  It read as follows: 

“Captured by the Navajos.  Am herding ponies north of Twin Buttes, at the head of Carizo.  Come to butte with cavalry, and wave handkerchief from left peak about noon.  If I do not come, look for me in plain north of butte.  Don’t worry; I’m all right.

     “HENRY.”

I remained at the fire long after every one had returned to their beds or duty, busy in extracting the cholla spines from Vic’s mouth and feet.  The dog seemed to understand the necessity of the treatment she was receiving, and bore the pain submissively, with only occasional moans and cries, until the operation ended.  She then received a drink of water, and went to bed with Frank.

At daybreak the rescue detachment left camp, retraced our route to the Carizo, where Corporal Frank put us upon the trail of the Indians.  We climbed to the highest point reached by the path, and saw it descend on the opposite side to a brook, deep in the valley.  Here we halted, took the horses a short distance down the slope we had just ascended, picketed them in a grassy nook, and Frank and I started to ascend the left peak.

“Mr. Baldwin,” I said, as I moved away, “when you see us start to return, saddle and bridle as rapidly as possible, so as to be ready for emergencies.”

“I’ll do so.  You can depend upon us to be ready when wanted,” was the reply.

We scrambled through a scattering growth of pinon and junipers for several yards, and at last came to a perpendicular shaft of sandstone twenty feet high, with a flat top.  The diameter of the shaft was about fifty feet.

“Henry could not have come up here, or he never would have set us to attempt an impossibility,” said Frank, as his eyes ran up and down the rock.

“Perhaps it may not be so impossible as it appears,” I replied.  “Let us walk round the butte.”

We passed to the right, and, having found a practicable place for attempting the ascent, accomplished the feat in a few moments.

On the flat summit we found the remains of former fires that had undoubtedly been lighted as signals.  The view was grand and extensive.  Directly to the north lay many verdant valleys—­grazing-grounds of the nomadic Navajos.  One of these valleys lay at the foot of the mountain upon which we stood, with a bright stream of water crossing its hither border.  Well out in the valley were several flocks of sheep and goats, and close to the opposite side of the brook was a herd of ponies.