“You’ve made a friend,” continued Belding.  “A Yaqui could be a real friend on this desert.  If he gets his strength back he’ll be of service to you, don’t mistake me.  He’s welcome here.  But you’re responsible for him, and you’ll have trouble keeping him from massacring all the Greasers in Forlorn River.”

The probability of a visit from the raiders, and a dash bolder than usual on the outskirts of a ranch, led Belding to build a new corral.  It was not sightly to the eye, but it was high and exceedingly strong.  The gate was a massive affair, swinging on huge hinges and fastening with heavy chains and padlocks.  On the outside it had been completely covered with barb wire, which would make it a troublesome thing to work on in the dark.

At night Belding locked his white horses in this corral.  The Papago hersman slept in the adobe shed adjoining.  Belding did not imagine that any wooden fence, however substantially built, could keep determined raiders from breaking it down.  They would have to take time, however, and make considerable noise; and Belding relied on these facts.  Belding did not believe a band of night raiders would hold out against a hot rifle fire.  So he began to make up some of the sleep he had lost.  It was noteworthy, however, that Ladd did not share Belding’s sanguine hopes.

Jim Lash rode in, reporting that all was well out along the line toward the Sonoyta Oasis.  Days passed, and Belding kept his rangers home.  Nothing was heard of raiders at hand.  Many of the newcomers, both American and Mexican, who came with wagons and pack trains from Casita stated that property and life were cheap back in that rebel-infested town.

One January morning Dick Gale was awakened by a shrill, menacing cry.  He leaped up bewildered and frightened.  He heard Belding’s booming voice answering shouts, and rapid steps on flagstones.  But these had not awakened him.  Heavy breaths, almost sobs, seemed at his very door.  In the cold and gray dawn Dick saw something white.  Gun in hand, he bounded across the room.  Just ouside his door stood Blanco Sol.

It was not unusual for Sol to come poking his head in at Dick’s door during daylight.  But now in the early dawn, when he had been locked in the corral, it meant raiders—­no less.  Dick called softly to the snorting horse; and, hurriedly getting into clothes and boots, he went out with a gun in each hand.  Sol was quivering in every muscle.  Like a dog he followed Dick around the house.  Hearing shouts in the direction of the corrals, Gale bent swift steps that way.

He caught up with Jim Lash, who was also leading a white horse.

“Hello, Jim!  Guess it’s all over but the fireworks,” said Dick.

“I cain’t say just what has come off,” replied Lash.  “I’ve got the Bull.  Found him runnin’ in the yard.”

They reached the corral to find Belding shaking, roaring like a madman.  The gate was open, the corral was empty.  Ladd stooped over the ground, evidently trying to find tracks.