It was almost dark when Charley got back to camp with his load, and he was thoroughly tired out, but he felt happier in spirits than he had in many days.
"We've only got one more night of suspense to go through," he told his chums, over the campfire. "The sheriff will be out in the morning, with his posse, and that will dispose of the convicts, make us $1,000 richer, and we will have peace for a while, I hope. Has that little man, Jones, come back yet, Walt?"
"Haven't seen anything of him," his chum replied. "The convicts are still camped in the same place. At any rate I can see the smoke of their campfire from the machine."
"Good!" Charley exclaimed. "You fellows can sit up and talk, as long as you want to—I'm going to bed. I'm dead tired."
CHAPTER XVI.
FIGHTING THE FIRE.
Midnight and the silence of sleep hung over the little camp, when suddenly there came the shriek of the whistle from the machine, four long blasts—the distress signal—and from their lines the guards came running in, crying, "Fire! Fire!"
Our little party, awakened by the din, stopped only to slip on their shoes, and when they emerged from the tent it was to find the Spaniards half-dressed, pouring out of their shelters. One glance was all that was needed to take in the situation. Not half a mile distant from the camp the prairie was a mass of flames. A strong wind was blowing from the north, and it was rapidly sweeping the flames down upon the little camp.
"My!" exclaimed Walter. "It looks as though we were goners, all right."