“There’s an excillint rayson for that, sargint laddie,” returned Clary.  “One of the routes t’ th’ coast begins exactly opposite th’ town, and they must go up-strame to foind it; El Rincon the landing-place is called.”

“The Corner?”

“Yis, Th’ Corner.  Th’ shore binds out there a wee bit.”

Man and boys continued to struggle along, until across a level, grassless plot they saw, near a clump of cottonwoods, a fire, where Texas Dick and Jumping Jack were plainly visible, cooking their supper.  On the side of the fire opposite the river were two saddles, upon which rested their rifles and revolvers.  Still farther west the two ponies were picketed and grazing.

Clary told Henry to go to the ponies and stay there with Vic, while he and Frank crept upon the thieves.  Screening themselves behind tufts and swells, and lastly behind the saddles, they worked across the level, the sound of their moving being covered by the booming and rushing of the mighty river.  When within twenty yards of the fire and five from the saddles, Private Tom Clary sprang to his feet, aimed his double-barrelled shot-gun at the thieves, and shouted: 

“Throw up your arrums!”

At the same instant Frank made a flying leap for the saddles, and seized the rifles and revolvers.  Henry ran forward and assisted his brother in keeping Dick and Juan under the muzzles of their own rifles, while Clary securely bound them.  This accomplished, the boys went back for a moment to renew their acquaintance with their horses.  Yes, the chase was over, and their favorites were again in their possession; and it cannot appear strange that the young soldiers went into boyish ecstasies of delight at their good-fortune, embracing, patting, and talking to Sancho and Chiquita as if they understood all that was said to them.

But at last they joined Clary at the fire, and the three, while they continued to carry on the interrupted cooking of their captives, discussed ways and means of returning to La Paz, and it was decided to send the setter with a message.  A note was pencilled on a page of Frank’s diary, attached to Vic’s collar, and she was taken to the river-bank and given a stick, with orders to deliver it to her master.  With but little hesitation she plunged into the murky current, and soon disappeared in the darkness in the direction of the other shore.

While the boy sergeants were going through these adventures I remained in La Paz.  At retreat and tattoo roll-calls Corporal Duffey had reported Private Clary absent, adding the words “and unaccounted for,” and at Mr. Gray’s table the boys were absent from supper.

At first I gave myself no anxiety over the absentees, but at midnight, becoming alarmed, I began a search for them.  I soon learned that Henry had been seen to paddle out of the lagoon on a Mojave balsa, accompanied by Vic, and that Frank and Clary had gone quail-shooting.  I did not feel especially anxious about the older boy, for he was in the company of one of the most trustworthy of our veteran soldiers, and would probably soon turn up safe.  But Henry—­gone down the turbulent river on a frail bundle of grass—­what might I not fear?