The dawn came at last, and it did not bring any alarm; but, just as the sun was rising, the gate in the stockade swung wide open, and a man stepped out, gazing earnestly towards the east.
"Colorado! What's that?" he exclaimed. "I won't rouse the ranch, but it beats me all hollow. Hosses. Two of 'em."
There was evidently something curious in the fact that a pair of horses were plodding slowly along towards Santa Lucia, all by themselves, at that hour of the morning.
Sam stood by the gate as if waiting for an explanation, when there came a sound of steps behind him.
"Sam," asked an anxious voice, "do you see anything?"
"I'd say 'twas the red mustang, if there wasn't a pack on him, and a black hoss with him. Didn't know you was up, ma'am."
"Cal's mustang, Sam? I've not been abed or asleep."
"Mother, is it Dick? Is it Cal? Are there any Indians?"
"Vic, I'm afraid it's Cal. I'm going to see. He's wounded!"
"Most likely," said Sam, with a sharp change of voice. "They'd better turn out. Stay here, madam."