nd the rattle of rifle and
pistol shots that followed, the conflict seemed to die down, and
presently all became utter silence; and thus two more hours passed.

"Whoever they were, they seem to have left this vicinity entirely,"
said Roger.

"I wish it was morning," put in another of the young men present. The
watching was beginning to get on his nerves.

At last, just as the first streaks of dawn were beginning to show in
the eastern sky, a number of horsemen were descried approaching from
the southward. All in the camp were instantly on their guard, but it
was soon seen that it was their friends who were coming back. They
came in somewhat of a horseshoe formation, driving in their midst four
prisoners, one of them with his arm done up in a sling and another
with his head bandaged.

"They've got somebody!" exclaimed Roger, as the crowd came closer,
"Four greasers!"

"Three of them look like Mexicans, but the other fellow looks like an
American," returned Dave, as the party came to a halt in front of the
camp buildings.

Those who had come in were at once surrounded by the others, who
wanted to know the particulars of what had taken place.

"It was a band of about thirty greasers, and with them were two or
three Americans," announced Frank Andrews. "They went down to old man
Tolman's corral and tried to drive off about two hundred head of
cattle. They got away from the ranch, and then part of the gang came
over this way in the vicinity of the new bridge. We had two running
fights with them, and then they let the cattle go and started for the
Rio Grande. But before they went one of the rascals set off a bomb
near the end of the bridge and blew up a corner of the foundation."

"Why in the world did they want to blow up the bridge?" demanded Mr.
Obray.

"They weren't all Mexicans, Mr. Obray. Several of them were Americans.
We've got one of the Americans right here. And do you know who it is?
Jack Pankhurst!"

"What's that!" exclaimed the head of the camp, and then he turned to
the prisoners. One man had his sombrero pulled well down over his
forehead, as if somewhat ashamed of himself.

"There he is," went on Frank Andrews, pointing to this individual.
"That's Jack Pankhurst, who was discharged for drinking and gambling
about two months ago."

Mr. Obray strode up to the prisoner and gave him a tap under the chin,
thus elevating his face.

"You're a fine specimen of humanity, Pankhurst!" he cried sternly.