thing with her tears, the love-knot she had given her
soldier boy less than a year before.

Another night comes around. Tiny fires are glowing down in the dark
depths of Black Canyon, showing red through the frosty gleam of the
moonlight. Under the silvery rays nine new-made graves are ranked along
the turf, guarded by troopers whose steeds are browsing close at hand.
Silence and sadness reign in the little bivouac where Lee and his
comrades await the coming of the train they had left three days before.
It will be here on the morrow, early, and then they must push ahead and
bear their heavy tidings to the regiment. He has written one sorrowing
letter--and what a letter to have to write to the woman he loves!--to
tell Miriam that he has been unable to identify any one of the bodies as
that of her gallant young brother, yet is compelled to believe him to
lie there, one of the stricken nine. And now he must face the father
with this bitter news! Romney Lee's sore heart fails him at the
prospect, and he cannot sleep. Good heaven! _Can_ it be that three weeks
only have passed away since the night of that lovely yet ill-fated
carriage-ride down through Highland Falls, down beyond picturesque
Hawkshurst?

Out on the bluffs, though he cannot see them, and up and down the canyon,
vigilant sentries guard this solemn bivouac. No sign of Indian has been
seen except the hoof-prints of a score of ponies and the bloody relics
of their direful visit. No repetition of the signal-smokes has greeted
their watchful eyes. It looks as though this outlying band of warriors
had noted his coming, had sent up their warning to others of their
tribe, and then scattered for the mountains at the south. All the same,
as he rode the bluff lines at nightfall, Mr. Lee had charged the
sentries to be alert with eye and ear, and to allow none to approach
unchallenged.

The weary night wears on. The young moon has ridden down in the west and
sunk behind that distant bluff line. All is silent as the graves around
which his men are slumbering, and at last, worn with sorrow and vigil,
Lee rolls himself in his blanket and, still booted and spurred,
stretches his feet towards the little watch-fire, and pillows his head
upon the saddle. Down the stream the horses are already beginning to tug
at their lariats and struggle to their feet, that they may crop the
dew-moistened bunch grass. Far out upon the chill night air the yelping
challenge of the coyotes is hea