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Foes in Ambush by Charles King
page 41 of 213 (19%)
Wing scouted the suggestion. He wished, however, that Jackson were
back with such tidings as he had picked up at Ceralvo's. It was always
best to be prepared, even though this was some distance away from the
customary raiding-ground of the tribe.

Just then there came a hail from aloft. Pikey was shouting.

"All right," answered Wing, cheerily; "be there in a minute," and then
went springing up the trail as though the climb of four hundred feet
were a mere bagatelle. "What's up?--Jackson here?" he asked, short of
breath as he reached the little nook in which their brush-covered
tents were pitched. There was no reply.

"Pike. Oh-h, Pike! Where are you?" he called.

And presently, faint and far somewhere down in the dark caƱon to the
south, a voice replied,--

"Down hyar. Something's coming up the road."

Surely enough. Probably a quarter-mile away a dim light as of a
swinging lantern could be seen following the winding of the rough and
rock-ribbed road. Then came the click of iron-shod hoofs, the crack of
the long mule-whip, and a resonant imprecation in Spanish levelled at
the invisible draught animals. Bounding lightly down the southward
path, Sergeant Wing soon reached the roadside, and there found Pike in
converse with a brace of horsemen.

"It's old Harvey's outfit, from Yuma, making for Moreno's," vouchsafed
the soldier.
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