Far out on the trail the quick-tripping hoofs of mules could now be heard. Presently a horseman shot up out of the gloom.
"Halt there!" sung out Feeny. "Whose party's this?"
"Harvey's, Tucson. Looking for Moreno's. Are we near?"
"You're there now, but you can't stop. Mr. Harvey wants you to come right along after him. He has taken the trail to the Christobal, where the Indians have carried off his daughters."
The man fairly reeled in saddle, shocked at the dreadful tidings.
"When?—how did it happen? Who's gone with him?"
"Some time this morning, from all we can learn. Two squads of cavalry are on the trail, one with Ned Harvey, the other just out from here at dark. The old man and George followed them as soon as they got in. Who's with you?"
"Two Mexicans, that's all; they're no account. I'd best leave them here with the mules. They're just behind and have been scared to death already."
And so in ten minutes two more of the low-caste, half-breed Mexicans were added to the paymaster's garrison, and Sergeant Feeny's brief exposition of the situation at the ranch only delayed the incoming American long enough to water his horse and stow a little grain in a sack.
"I wouldn't wonder a damned bit if the Morales gang were around here," was his discomforting assurance. "None of 'em have been seen about Tucson for a week before we left. Wish I could stay and stand by you, but my first duty is with Mr. Harvey. I've been in his employ nigh on to eight years."