hour their efforts were vain. Meantime Drummond, well-nigh mad over
the delay, was pacing about like a caged tiger. He set two of the men
to work to hitch the bewildered little burros to the well-wheel and
get up several huge bucketfuls of water against the coming of the
troop. He ordered others to rub down his handsome sorrel, Chester, and
the mounts of two of the advanced party. At last after what must have
seemed an age, yet could not have been over thirty minutes from the
time of their arrival, a soldier running in, said he could hear hoofs
out on the plain, and at the same instant two men appeared lugging
between them, bleeding and senseless, the ragged form of Edward
Harvey.

Scratched, torn, covered with blood and bruises, and still unconscious
though he was, Drummond knew him at a glance. They had met the
previous year, and though only once it was enough. Men with young and
lovely sisters are not soon forgotten. Kneeling by his side, the
lieutenant sought anxiously for trace of blade or bullet. Rents there
were many and many a bloody scratch and tear, but, to his infinite
relief, no serious wound appeared. Still in deep swoon, his friend
seemed to resist every effort for his restoration. The dash of water
in his face was answered only by a faint shivering sigh. The
thimbleful of whiskey forced between his lips only gurgled down his
throat, and Drummond felt no responsive flutter of pulse. The shock to
his system must indeed have been great, for Harvey lay like one in a
trance. Drummond feared that he might never again open his eyes to
light and home.

And then the weary troop came trotting into view, old Sergeant
Meinecke in command. Halting and dismounting at his signal, the men
stood silent and wondering at their horses' heads, while their leader