cipline
prevailed.

"The lieutenant knows that Carey's not in yet," he ventured to say, as
he started back down the narrow game trail which they had climbed.

"Yes; but yonder he comes and so does the storm. We can't be caught in
this canon in case of a hard rain. Let Carey have some coffee and a
bite, if he feels well enough. Then we'll push on."

Ordinarily when making summer marches over the range, the first "water
camp" on the Sweetwater trail was here at Canon Springs. On the road to
Frayne, which crossed the brook ten miles to the east, all wagon trains
and troops not on forced march made similar camp. In the case of
scouting detachments or little parties sent out from Emory, it was
always customary to spend the first night and make the first camp on the
Box Elder at furthermost, then to push on, ready and refreshed, the
following day. Dean well knew that to get the best work out of his
horses he should start easily, and up to nine o'clock he had fully
intended to make the usual camp at the Springs. But once before, within
a few years, a big scouting party camping in the gorge of the Box Elder
had been surprised by one of those sudden, sweeping storms, and before
they could strike tents, pack up and move to higher ground, the stream
took matters into its own hands and spared them all further trouble on
that score, distributing camp and garrison equipage for long leagues
away to the east. Two miles back, trooper Carey, who had been
complaining of severe cramp and pain in the stomach, begged to be
allowed to fall out and rest awhile. He was a reliable old soldier when
whisky was not winning the upper hand, and this time whisky was not at
fault. A dose of Jamaica ginger was the only thing their field
pharmacopoeia provided, and Carey rolled out of his saddle and doubled
up among the rocks with his hands on the pit of his stomach, grimacing.

"Go back if you think best, or come ahead and catch us at the Springs if
well enough," were the orders left him, while the men pushed on, and
now, as the lieutenant said, Carey was coming himself. Some of the party
were already dozing when the sergeant's sharp order "Saddle up" was
given, but a glance at the lowering sky explained it all, and every man
was standing to horse and ready when the missing trooper came jogging in
among them, white, peaked, but determined. A look of mingled
disappointment and relief appeared on his face as he saw the
preparations for the start, but