ere we wouldn't sleep. So we pushed on through, to
camp on top, in the bare region, where we would be out of danger and
could see around. The Red Fox canteens would give us water enough.

We came out on the bare spot. Away off to the right, along the side of
the ridge, figures were moving. They were human figures, not more wild
animals: two men and a pack burro. They were moving toward us, so we
obliqued toward them, with our shadows cast long by the low sun. The
grass was short and the footing was hard gravel, so that we could hurry;
and soon I was certain that I knew who those three figures were. One was
riding.

The side of the ridge was cut by a deep gulch, like a canyon, with rocky
walls and stream rolling through along the bottom. We halted on our
edge, and the three figures came on and halted on their edge. They were
General Ashley and Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand, and Apache the black burro.
The general was riding Apache. I was glad to see them.

"They're the two Elk Scouts who were captured," I said, to the Red Fox
Scouts; and I waved and grinned, and they waved back, and we all
exchanged the Scout sign.

But that gorge lay between, and the water made such a noise that we
couldn't exchange a word.

"Can they read Army and Navy wigwags?" asked Scout Ward.

"Sure," I said. "Can you?"

"Pretty good," he answered. "Shall I make a talk, or will you?"

But I wasn't very well practiced in wigwags, yet; I was only a
Second-class Scout.

"You," I said. "Do you want a flag?"

But he said he'd use his hat. (Note 48.)

He made the "attention" signal; and Fitzpatrick answered. Then he went
ahead, while Scout Van Sant spelled it out for me:

"R--e--d F--o--x."

And Fitz answered, like lightning:

"E--l--k."

"What shall I say?" asked Scout Ward of me, over his shoulder.

"Say we're all right, and ask them how they are."

He did. Scout Van Sant spelled the answer:

"O. K. B--u--t c--a--n--t c--r--o--s--s. C--a--m--p t--i--l--l
m--o--r--n--i--n--g. A--s--h h--u--r--t."

When we learned that General Ashley was hurt, and knew that he and
Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand were going to camp on the other side for the
night, the two Red Fox Scouts, packs and all, and I got through that
gulch somehow and up and out, where they were. It would have been a
shame to let a one-armed boy tend to the camp and to a wounded
companion, and do everything, if we could possibly help. Of course, Fitz
would have managed. He was that ki