folding, laid them creaseless back of the gaunt withers of their
faithful mounts. The worn old saddles were deftly set, the crude
buckles of the old days, long since replaced by cincha loop, snapped
into place; lariats coiled and swung from the cantle-rings; dusty old
bits and bridles adjusted; then came the slipping into carbine-slings
and thimble-belts, the quick lacing of Indian moccasin or canvas
legging, the filling of canteens in the tepid tanks below, while all
the time the cooks and packers were flying about gathering up the pots
and pans and storing rations, bags, and blankets on the roomy
_apparejos_. Drummond was in the act of swinging into saddle when his
sergeant hastened up.

"Beg pardon, lieutenant, but shall I leave a small guard with the
pack-train or can they come right along?"

"They'll go with us, of course. We can't leave them here. We must head
for Ceralvo's at once. How could those Indians have got over that
way?"

"It is beyond me to say, sir. I didn't know they ever went west of the
Santa Maria."

"I can hardly believe it now, but there's no doubting that signal; it
is to call us thither at all speed wherever we may be, and means only
one thing,--'Apaches here.' Sergeant Wing is not the man to get
stampeded. Can they have jumped the stage, do you think, or attacked
some of Ceralvo's people?"

"Lord knows, sir. I don't see how they could have swung around there;
there's nothing to tempt them along that range until they get to the