carefully had been removed, an imprint in the soft clay brought a smile
to his face.

"Following us close," he muttered. "Lord help any Mexicans that wander
away from the wagons. Nearer twenty than what they said." He slipped
along the edge of the pasture and found where the party had left the
little ravine. Following the trail he soon came to another matted growth
of underbrush, and then he heard the barely audible stamp of a horse.
Creeping forward he wormed his way through the greener brush and finally
peered through an opening among the stems and branches. A dozen Texans
were lolling on the floor of the ravine, and he knew that the others
were doing sentry duty.

A shadow passed him and he froze, and then relaxed as Burch came into
sight. It was needful that he make no mistake in how he made his
presence known, for a careless hail might draw a volley.

Burch passed him treading softly and when the man's back was turned to
him Tom called out in a low voice. "Burch! Don't shoot!"

"Boyd!" exclaimed the sentry. "Cussed if ye ain't a good un, gittin'
whar ye air an' me not knowin' it. What ye doin' hyar?"

"Scoutin' fer Injuns. Glad ter see ye."

Burch stepped to the edge of the ravine. "Friend o' mine comin' down,
name o' Boyd." He turned. "Go down an' meet th' boys; thar honin' fer to
shake han's with th' kiyote that hit Armijo. Be with ye soon."

Tom descended and shook hands with the smiling Texans and in a few
moments was at home in the camp. He noticed that they all had the Colt
revolving rifles which his friend Jarvis, back in St. Louis, had
condemned. Each man wore two pistols of the same make, and most of them
carried heavy skinning knives inside their boot legs.

"I heard tell them rifles warn't o' much account," he observed.

"Wall, they ain't as good as they might be," confessed a lanky Texan,
"if thar used careless an' git too hot. A Hawken will out-shoot 'em; but
we mostly fight on hossback, an' like ter git purty clost. Take them
greasers we run inter; we didn't pull trigger till we war a hundred
paces away, an' by th' time we'd emptied th' rifles an' pulled pistols
th' danged fight war over. Th' Injuns don't like 'em worth a cuss.
That's a right smart rifle ye got thar, friend."

Tom passed it around and it was duly admired. Then the guard was changed
and Burch and Flint appeared.

"You fellers air stickin' purty clost ter us," observed Tom.

"But not as clost as th' greasers air," laughed