skies.

"Sarsh'nt," he hiccoughed, "we're--we're too late; 'Paches got
there--first."

"Hwat! hwat!" thundered Feeny. "D'ye mean there _were_ women,--that it
wasn't a plant?"

"Fack."

"Hware's your despatches, you drunken lout? How dare you dhrink when
there was fight ahead? Hware's your despatches? and may heaven blast
the souls of you both!"

"Here, sergeant," said Murphy, wrenching the soiled envelope from the
loose grasp of the prostrate trooper.

"It's to you, sir," said Feeny, with one glance at the sprawling
superscription. "In God's name read and let us know what devil's
work's abroad to-night."

Even Plummer's pudgy fingers trembled as he tore open the dingy
packet. Old Moreno came forth with a light, his white teeth gleaming,
his black eyes flashing from one to another of the group. Holding the
pencilled page close to the lantern, the paymaster read aloud,--

"Camp burned. One man killed; others scattered; mules and
buck-board gone. For God's sake help in the pursuit. Strike
for Raton Pass. The Indians have run away my poor sisters.