“Then they are likely to remain there for some time.”

“Can’t something be done to get the ponies back, sir?” asked Frank.

“Perhaps so.  I will consider the matter.”

The mail was taken to my office and soon distributed through the command.  Among my letters was one from Colonel Burton, the father of the boy sergeants.  He said he had been expecting to send for his sons by this mail, but additional detached service had been required of him which might delay their departure from Whipple for another month, if not longer.  He informed me that a detail I had received to duty as professor of military science and tactics in a boys’ military school had been withheld by the department commander until my services could be spared at Fort Whipple, and that he thought the next mail, or the one following it, would bring an order relieving me and ordering me East.  This would enable me to leave for the coast about the first week in November.

Frank and Henry shared my quarters with me, and that evening, seated before an open fire, I read their father’s letter, and remarked that perhaps I should be able to accompany them to San Francisco, and, if the colonel consented to their request to go to the military school with me, we might take the same steamer for Panama and New York.

“Oh, won’t that be too fine for anything!” exclaimed the younger sergeant.  “Then I’ll not have to leave Vicky here, after all.”

Vic, upon hearing her name called, left her rug at my feet and placed her nose on Henry’s knee, and the boy stroked and patted her in his usual affectionate manner.

“Then you have been dreading to leave the doggie?” I asked.

“Yes; I dream all sorts of uncomfortable things about her.  She’s in trouble, or I am, and I cannot rescue her and she cannot help me.  Usually we are parting, and I see her far off, looking sadly back at me.”

“Henry is not the only one who dreads to part with Vic,” said Frank.  “We boys can never forget the scenes at Los Valles Grandes, Laguna, and the Rio Carizo.  She saved our lives, helped recover Chiquita, and she helped rescue Manuel, Sapoya, and Henry from the Navajos.”

“Yes; but for her I might have lost my brother at La Roca Grande,” remarked Henry.  “That was probably her greatest feat.  Nice little doggie—­good little Vicky—­are you really to go to San Francisco and the East with us?”

“I believe if I only had Sancho back, and Henry had Chiquita, I should be perfectly happy,” observed the elder brother.

After a slight pause, during which the boy seemed to have relapsed into his former depression, Henry asked: 

“Do they have cavalry drill at that school?”

“Yes, the superintendent keeps twenty light horses, and allows some of the cadets to keep private animals.  All are used in drill.”

“And if we get our ponies back, I suppose we shall have to leave them here.  Do you think, sir, there is any chance of our seeing them again?” asked Frank.