you. How can I ever thank you for all you
have done for my boy and his friends?"

"Don't mention it," said Allen glibly; "we Americans must do little
things for one another, you know. But hurry, sir. Your boy was
calling for you when I left."

"Poor lad!" exclaimed the deluded mine owner, hastening toward the
stable. "Geisler, you must stay and look after the place. How far is
it, Mr. Allen?"

"Not more than ten miles, sir," was the rejoinder.

"I can ride there and back before dark, then," declared Mr. Merrill.
"If the lad is strong enough to be moved, I'll bring him with me."

All this time Geisler had been examining "Mr. Allen's" horse with a
singular expression. As the miner owner vanished in the direction of
the stable, he spoke:

"Dot poor horse of yours vos aboudt tuckered in, aindt it?" he inquired.

"Yes, poor brute," rejoined Bob Harding, "I rode at a furious pace."

"Und got all der dust on his chest, und none on his hind quvarters,"
commented the German suspiciously.

But Harding returned his gaze frankly, and wiped his brow with a great
appearance of weariness.

"Is that so?" he said. "I didn't notice it. But then, I rode so hard,
and----"

"Are you ready, Mr. Allen?"

It was Mr. Merrill's voice. He rode up, as he spoke, on a big
chestnut, which he had saddled and bridled faster than he had ever
equipped a horse before.

"All ready, sir," was the response, as Bob Harding swung himself into
his saddle again.

Geisler had run into the office. Now he reappeared, holding something
under his coat. He approached Mr. Merrill's side, and, while Bob
Harding was leaning over examining his saddle-girth, the German slipped
the object he held to his employer.

"Idt's a gun," he whispered. "Keep idt handy. Py chiminy, I dink
maype you need him pefore you get through."

"With the insurrectos in retreat?" laughed Mr. Merrill. "Geisler, you
are getting nervous in your old age. Come, Mr. Allen, let's be getting
forward, I can hardly wait till I see my boy."

The horses plunged forward and clattered down the hillside.

Geisler watched them till a bend in the road below hid them from view.
Then he turned slowly to reenter the stockade.

"Py chiminy," he muttered, emitting huge clouds of blue smoke, "I dink
me dere vos a vood-pile in dot nigger, py cracious."

CHAPTER XXII.

AT ROSARIO STATION.

The dull gray of the dawn was illuminating the east, and the breath of
the morning