father had once invested and had left a little property.  And then came the news that Uncle Fred had been dismissed, all on account of drink and gambling and misappropriation of funds.  Miss Harvey knows all about this, lieutenant, for mother told her and had reason to.  And next came forgery, and we were stranded.  We heard that he had gone after that with a wagon-train to Texas.  I got employment on a ranch, and then mother married again, married a man who had long befriended us and who could give her a comfortable home.  She is now Mrs. Malcomb Bland, of San Francisco, and Mr. Bland offered to take me into his store, but I loved the open air and independence.  Mr. Bland and Mr. Harvey had business relations, and when Uncle Fred was next heard from he was ‘starving to death,’ he said, ‘actually dying.’  He wrote to mother from Yuma.  Mother wired me to go to him at once, and I did.  He was considerably out at elbows, but in no desperate need yet.  Just then Mr. Harvey offered him a good salary to take charge of his freight-train.  We all knew how that must have been brought about, and I felt that it would only be a matter of time when he would rob his new employer.  He did; was discharged, but Mr. Bland made the amount good, and the matter was hushed up.  Then he drove stage awhile and then disappeared.  Mother has written me time and again to find him or find out what has become of him, and I promised I would leave no stone unturned.  Tell her I have kept my word.  Tell her I found him.  But tell her for God’s sake to think no more of him.  Tell her not to strive to find him or to ask what he is or even where he is beyond that he has gone to Sonora.”

“Lieutenant,” said Patterson, suddenly appearing at the opening, “could you step here a moment?”

Drummond springs up.

“One moment, Mr. Drummond,” whispers Wing, weakly; “I must say one word to you—­alone.”

“I’ll return in a minute, sergeant.  Let me see what Patterson wants.”

Miss Harvey and Ruth have risen; the former is very pale and evidently trembling under some strong emotion.  Once more she bends over him.

“Drink this, Mr. Wing, and now talk no more than you absolutely have to.”

Then renewing the cooling bandage on his forehead, her hands seem to linger—­surely her eyes do—­as she rises once more to her feet.

Meantime the lieutenant has stepped out into the canon.

“What is it, Patterson? quick!”

“That was some of our fellows, sir, a squad of four; but they turned all of a sudden and galloped back out of sight.  It looks to me as though they were attacked.”

“How far away were they?  How many miles down the desert?”

“Oh, at least six or eight miles down, sir; down beyond where you met them yesterday.”

“How about our trail?  Anybody in sight there?”

“Nobody, sir, not even a thing, not even a whiff of dust.”

“Very well.  Keep on the alert.  It’s good to know that all the Apaches are not around us yet.  Neither bullet nor arrow can get down here so long as we man the rocks above.  I’ll be out in a moment.”