atter with you,"
retorted Bob. "You have been in the guard-house about half the time
since you have been here, and spent the other half in doing extra duty;
and that's the reason you don't like the lieutenant. If you will wake up
and attend to business, he will treat you well enough."

Bob's prompt and soldier-like way of performing the work that was
required of him very soon attracted the attention of Lieutenant Earle
(that was the name of the officer in command of the troop to which Bob
belonged), and he took his own way to reward him for it. If he was
ordered off on a scout, Bob Owens was always one of the "picked men" who
accompanied him. If he was sent out with a squad during the full of the
moon to watch the ford a few miles below the fort, Bob was one of the
members of that squad. This did not excite the jealousy of the good
soldiers, for they were always glad to have a brave comrade to back them
up in times of danger, no matter whether he was a greenhorn or a
veteran; but the grumblers and the discontented ones, especially those
who belonged to his own troop, had a good deal to say about it, and
declared that the lieutenant took Bob with him on his expeditions to pay
him for grooming his horse. They disliked him cordially, and it was not
long before an incident happened that caused the dislike of at least one
of them to grow into positive hatred.

One pleasant afternoon some of the men received permission to go outside
the gates for a short stroll. They wandered off in squads, some going
one way and some another, and Bristow and two companions--one of whom
was Gus Robbins--bent their steps toward the crumbling remains of an old
adobe outpost which marked the spot where more than one desperate fight
with the Apaches had taken place in the days gone by. There they seated
themselves and entered into conversation, Bristow's first words
indicating that they were about to discuss a subject that had before
occupied their attention.

"I tell you, Robbins," said he, "if you are in earnest in what you say,
now is the time to prove it."

"I certainly am in earnest," answered Gus; "but, to tell you the honest
truth, I am afraid."

"'Afraid'!" repeated Bristow in a tone of contempt. "What in the world
are you afraid of?"

"Of pursuit," replied Gus. "If we resist, we run the risk of being shot;
and if we are captured, we stand an excellent chance of going to
prison."

"Now, Robbins," said Bristow earnestly, "let me o