“No, sir, it's—all strange to me hereabouts.”
“How far are we from Canyon del Muerto now, sergeant?” asked the officer of the bearded trooper who rode close alongside.
“Sixteen miles, sir, on a bee line, but at least twenty by the road. We're off the direct trail now. We could have got through the canyon and reached the camp before this if that mule hadn't gone lame.”
“Major,” said Staines in a low tone, “I can get a saddle horse or mule here, no doubt. Had I not better ride right on? I can reach Captain Rawlins' camp by 9 or 10 o'clock. He will be mighty anxious at your non-arrival.”
“I was thinking of sending one man ahead; I don't like to let you go. It will wear you out for to-morrow's work.”
“Indeed it won't, sir; I'm feeling fresh enough, and the change from wagon to saddle will just suit me. I think I'd better go.” And there was an eager look in Staines' clear-cut face.
“I'll think about it” was the dubious answer. “These cavalry men are the proper ones to send, not a paymaster's clerk. If anything befell you on the route I would be crippled in making payments.”
“Nothing would be apt to befall me, sir; I know that road well.”
“I thought you said all was strange to you hereabouts” said the paymaster quickly. But the clerk showed no discomfiture.
“I said here, around the ranch. The direct road lies off there nearly nine miles to the southwest, sir. That is the one we always took going to Tucson.”