The wooden shutter behind them swung open. From the inner darkness
Moreno's voice, tremulous with sympathy and distress, fell upon their
ears.

"Señor Harvey, my heart bleeds for you. I saw him but an instant, but
it was he,--Señor Edward, your son."

"God of heaven! and your men have gone, all of them?"

"All but Feeny here."

"Northeast, towards the Christobal?"

"Yes; but stop one moment now, and look at this note. Is it your son's
writing?" And Plummer produced the crumpled page while Feeny held the
light. Feverishly Harvey examined the scrawl, his hand trembling so
hard he could not steady the paper.

"It is like enough," he moaned. "It was written in such mad haste. My
horse!" he cried, "and you come with me, George. Send the others on
our trail as soon as they get in. Give me another pistol if you
can,--I have but one,--and in God's name order along the first troops
that reach you."

Then in less than a minute even the galloping hoofs had muffled their
dull thunder in the darkness and distance. With wild dread spurring
him on, the father was gone to the rescue of his children, leaving old
Plummer and his faithful sergeant shocked and nerveless at the ranch.