akfast, and then set off across
the valley. His father owned one small flock of sheep that had not yet
been driven up on the Rim, where all the sheep in the country were run
during the hot, dry summer down on the Tonto. Young Evarts and a
Mexican boy named Bernardino had charge of this flock. The regular
Mexican herder, a man of experience, had given up his job; and these
boys were not equal to the task of risking the sheep up in the enemies'
stronghold.

This flock was known to be grazing in a side draw, well up from Grass
Valley, where the brush afforded some protection from the sun, and
there was good water and a little feed. Before Jean reached his
destination he heard a shot. It was not a rifle shot, which fact
caused Jean a little concern. Evarts and Bernardino had rifles, but,
to his knowledge, no small arms. Jean rode up on one of the
black-brushed conical hills that rose on the south side of Grass
Valley, and from there he took a sharp survey of the country. At first
he made out only cattle, and bare meadowland, and the low encircling
ridges and hills. But presently up toward the head of the valley he
descried a bunch of horsemen riding toward the village. He could not
tell their number. That dark moving mass seemed to Jean to be instinct
with life, mystery, menace. Who were they? It was too far for him to
recognize horses, let alone riders. They were moving fast, too.

Jean watched them out of sight, then turned his horse downhill again,
and rode on his quest. A number of horsemen like that was a very
unusual sight around Grass Valley at any time. What then did it
portend now? Jean experienced a little shock of uneasy dread that was
a new sensation for him. Brooding over this he proceeded on his way,
at length to turn into the draw where the camp of the sheep-herders was
located. Upon coming in sight of it he heard a hoarse shout. Young
Evarts appeared running frantically out of the brush. Jean urged his
horse into a run and soon covered the distance between them. Evarts
appeared beside himself with terror.

"Boy! what's the matter?" queried Jean, as he dismounted, rifle in
hand, peering quickly from Evarts's white face to the camp, and all
around.

"Ber-nardino! Ber-nardino!" gasped the boy, wringing his hands and
pointing.

Jean ran the few remaining rods to the sheep camp. He saw the little
teepee, a burned-out fire, a half-finished meal--and then the Mexican
lad lying prone o