And so at midnight, with steeds panting and jaded, with the pass and
the Picacho only four miles ahead, the little detachment was tripping
noiselessly through the darkness, and, all alert and eager, Drummond
was riding midway between his scouts and the main body so that no
sound close at hand might distract his attention from hails or signals
farther out. Suddenly he heard an exclamation ahead, the snort of a
frightened horse, then some muffled objurgations, a rider urging a
reluctant steed to approach some suspicious object, and, spurring his
own spirited charger forward, Mr. Drummond came presently upon the
corporal just dismounting in the darkness and striving to lead his
boon companion, whom he could not drive, up to some dark object lying
on the plain. This, too, failed. A low whistle, however, brought one
of the other scouts trotting in to the rescue.

"Hold him a minute, Burke," said the corporal, handing up the reins.
"There's something out here this brute shied at and I can't get him
near it again." With that he pushed out to the front while the others
listened expectant. A moment later a match was struck, and presently
burned brightly in the black and breathless night. Then came the
startled cry,--

"My God! lieutenant. It's Corporal Donovan and his horse,--both dead."

And even there Mr. Drummond noted that Bland was about the first of
the column to come hurrying forward to the scene.

Ten minutes' investigation threw but little light upon the tragedy.
Some stumps of candles were found in the saddle-bags and packs, and
with these the men scoured the plain for signs. Spreading well out
from the centre, they closely examined the sandy level. From the north