"You shall have the pick of the stables, Sergeant," interjected the
cavalry captain, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Anything else?
Have you had rest enough?"

"Four hours," and the Sergeant stood up again. "All I require will be
two days' rations, and a few more revolver cartridges. The sooner I 'm
off the better."

If he heard Travers' attempt at conversation as the two stumbled
together down the dark hill, he paid small attention. At the stables,
aided by a smoky lantern, he picked out a tough-looking buckskin
mustang, with an evil eye; and, using his own saddle and bridle, he
finally led the half-broken animal outside.

"That buckskin's the devil's own," protested Travers, careful to keep
well to one side.

"I 'll take it out of him before morning," was the reply. "Come on,
boy! easy now--easy! How about the rations, Captain?"

"Carter will have them for you at the gate of the stockade. Do you
know the trail?"

"Well enough to follow--yes."

McDonald was waiting with Carter, and the dim gleam of the lantern
revealed his face.

"Remember, Sergeant, you are to make her turn back if you can. Tell
her I wish her to do so--yes, this letter will explain everything, but