And then Feeny's challenge again rang out on the still night air,
followed instantly by muffled sound of stir and excitement in the
ranch behind them.

"Who comes there?"

"Hello! What's that? Who's that? Is that Moreno?"

"Who comes _there_, I say? Halt! or I'll fire."

"For God's sake don't fire, man; we've got ladies here."

"What ladies? Who are you anyhow? Quick!"

"George Harvey's daughters, of Tucson. I'm his son."

"God be praised!" shouted Feeny, springing to his feet and rushing
forward. "Are they all safe?--unharmed? Where did you overtake them?"

"Overtake who? What in blazes are you talking about?" queried a tall,
slender fellow, bending down from his saddle. "Who are you?"

"Sergeant Feeny, of the cavalry,--and here's the major just back of
me."

"Major who?"

"Major Plummer; him you was talking with this morning when you came
for help," answered Feeny, his voice tremulous with excitement.