owners, cursing their fate, unwilling passengers inside.

It was late afternoon when the two halves of "F" Troop lost sight of
each other, the captain going, grumbling, back to the main body with a
much disappointed command; the subaltern riding swiftly away down the
widening valley, with an exultant platoon at his back, all hands
rejoicing that theirs was the first capture of the campaign. Parallel
with them, afar across the stream, darting from cover to cover and
keeping vigilant watch, rode half a dozen redskins. Most of their
brethren, by this time, were far away toward Eagle's Nest, in quest of
the main body. These few were charged with the duty of keeping track of
the little troop, in order to be able to report exactly the direction
in which it was going and that no pursuit was intended. This definitely
settled, they, too, galloped away, and the valley, so far as Geordie
could judge, was now free of red riders.

The sun was low in the west. The wagon-tracks still led on. The night
was near at hand, and the troopers in advance had seen no sign of a
camp. Ten miles, at least, had they marched, and, avoiding a deep
westward bend of the stream, the trail now led them over a low ridge,
from whose crest the scouts signalled, "Nothing in sight."

Yet, a few minutes later, Graham and Connell, dismounting there the
better to scour the country with their glasses, were seen by the main
body to spring to their feet and then to saddle, Graham facing toward
them and with his hat signalling, "Change direction half left," whereat
Sergeant Drum, riding steadily along perhaps four hundred yards behind
his young commander, simply turned his horse's head in the direction
indicated, left the wagon-track, and silently his comrades followed.
"They've found it," said Drum, and found it they had.

Though the wheel-marks still held to the northward, and the three
troopers far in the lead had seen nothing as yet worthy of special
report, the strong lenses of the signal-glass had told their own story.

"Look yonder, Connell, in that clump of cotton-woods beyond the low
point," were Graham's words as he sprang to his feet. "See those black
things in the timber? They're buzzards!"

Five minutes later the corporal, too, was signalling, he and his men at
a halt. They, too, had made discoveries: the track, as it later
developed, of two shod horses pursued by shoeless Indian ponies.
Southeastward this trail went up a long, shallow ravine, t