had little to fear. Pasqual laughed with savage glee as he thought how
he had lured them in scattered detachments far up to the Gila or over
to the Christobal. No need to fear the coming of the late escort of
the paymaster. By this time those not dead, drugged, or drunk were
worn out with fatigue. Over the body of his bandit brother, the
swarthy Ramon, he had fiercely rejoiced that seven to one he had
avenged his death, and Pasqual counted on the fingers of his brown and
bloody hand the number of the victims of the night. Donovan and his
fellow-trooper killed on the open plain. The paymaster and his clerk,
Mullan and the other soldier, dead in their tracks and burned to ashes
by this time, and, best of all, "that pig of a sergeant," as Moreno
called him, that hound and murderer, Feeny,--he who had slain
Ramon,--bound, gagged, and left to miserable death by torture. Indeed,
as he was jolted along in the ambulance, groaning and cursing by
turns, Pasqual wondered why he had not insisted that Harvey, too,
should be given the _coup de grace_ before their start. It was an
unpardonable omission. Never mind! There in the brand-new Concord that
came clattering along there was booty that outrivalled all. There was
wealth far exceeding the stacks of treasury notes,--old Harvey's
daughters,--old Harvey's daughters. It was with mad, feverish joy that
when at last the sun came pouring in a flood of light over the desert
of the Cababi he listened to the report of a trusted subordinate.

"I could see every mile of the road with my glasses, _capitan_, from
the cliff top yonder--every mile from Moreno's to where we struck the
canon. There isn't a sign of dust,--there isn't a sign of pursuing
party."

"_Bueno!_ Then we rest when we reach the cave. This is even better
than I hoped."

But there were two elements in the problem Capitan Pasqual had failed
to consider,--Lieutenant Drummond's scout in the Christobal,
Cochises's band of Chiricahuas in the Santa Maria. Who could have
foreseen that the little troop, finishing its duties at the northern
end of the range and about turning south to re-scout the Santa Maria,
had ridden out upon the plain, summoned by the beacon at Picacho Pass,
and less than two hours after their hurried start from the burning
ruins at Moreno's were speeding on their trail? The best field-glasses
ever stolen from the paternal government could not reveal to the
fleeing outlaw that, only two or three miles back in th