"Pike. Oh-h, Pike! Where are you?" he called.
And presently, faint and far somewhere down in the dark cañon 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.
"Oh, is that you, Sergeant Wing? I ought to have known you were here. I'm Ned Harvey." And the taller horseman held out a hand, which Wing grasped and shook with cordial fervor.
"Which way, Mr. Harvey, and who are with you?"
"Home to Tucson. My sisters are in the Concord behind us, going to visit the old folks for a few weeks before their trip to Cuba."
"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Wing. "They're the first ladies to pass through here since I came on duty at the station two months ago. You stay at Moreno's, I suppose?"
"Yes; the governor meets us there with relays and four or five men. We knew there would be no danger west of the Santa Maria."