s possible to the other side of
the stream. Jarvey Porton sat in the stern of the craft, and looked
back from time to time, trying to catch sight of the guerrillas and
the other Mexicans, who were still shouting and firing at a distance.

"Hadn't you better hold back a bit, Dave, so they don't see you?"
questioned Roger, as he and our hero managed to gain the rowboat they
had used, which, fortunately, had been placed some distance away from
the other craft.

"Good advice, Roger, if it wasn't for one thing. I don't want to give
them a chance to get out of our sight. Let us tie our handkerchiefs
over the lower parts of our faces. Then they won't be able to
recognize us--at least unless we get pretty close."

With Dave's suggestion carried out, the chums leaped into the rowboat,
and, this done, each took an oar. They pulled hard, and as a
consequence reached the mouth of the little creek on the United States
side in time to see those ahead just disembarking.

"Where do you suppose they are going?" queried the senator's son.

"That remains to be found out," answered Dave. "Duck now, so they
won't see us." And with a quick motion of the oar he possessed he sent
the flat-bottomed boat in among some tall grass which bordered the
creek at this point.

Ward Porton and those with him had tied up their boat and were walking
to the higher ground away from the creek. Jarvey Porton paused to
look back along the creek and the bosom of the river beyond.

"I don't see anything on the river just now," he announced.

"Look! Some one is coming from the other way!" exclaimed his son,
suddenly.

"Is that Lawson, the ranchman?" questioned Packard Brown, anxiously.

"No, I don't think it is," answered Ward Porton. "They seem to be
strangers," he added, a minute later.

Two men and a well-grown boy were approaching. They came on slowly, as
if looking for some one.

"I'd like to know what those fellows want around here," came from
Jarvey Porton, as he gave up looking along the river to inspect the
newcomers.

From their position in the tall grass bordering the creek, Dave and
Roger looked from the Porton party to those who were approaching.
Then, of a sudden, our hero uttered a low exclamation of surprise.

"Look who's here, Roger! Ben Basswood and my Uncle Dunston! And Mr.
Andrews is with them!"

"Oh, Dave! are you sure?"

"Of course I am! I would know my Uncle Dunston as far as I could see
him. And you ought to know Ben."