"Here, Frank, come and help push this gate, I can't start it alone."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Henry. Wait just a moment. I think I hear a horse coming down the Prescott road. I want to see if it is the express from La Paz."

The younger boy ceased his efforts to close the gates, and advancing a few steps before the entrance of the fort, looked up the valley to where the road from Prescott appeared from behind a spur of the foot-hills. The two boys had mounted their sergeant's chevrons and adopted white stripes down the legs of their trousers. As they stood side by side Vic approached and placed herself between them, nestling her delicate muzzle against the younger boy's hip and responding to his caresses with waves of her plumy tail.

"Do you think we shall hear from father, Frank?"

"We ought to; you know he said in his last letter he was getting settled at the Presidio, and would soon send for us."

"Takes twelve days to bring a letter from San Francisco. I suppose it'll take us longer to go there; seems to me he might get ready for us while we are on the road," said Henry, lugubriously. "I'm getting mighty tired of opening and shutting these gates."

"You forget father has to visit all the posts where companies of his regiment are stationed. That will probably take him all of a month longer."

"And we must go on opening and closing gates and running errands in Arizona? But come; let's get a swing on 'em and watch for the expressman afterwards. We haven't much time before retreat."

The gates closed a fort which we had built since our arrival in Arizona. Peeled pine logs, ten feet long, had been set up vertically in the ground, two feet of them below the surface and eight above, enclosing an area of a thousand square feet, in which were store-rooms, offices, and quarters for two companies of soldiers and their officers. At corners diagonally opposite each other were two large block-house bastions, commanding the flanks of the fort. The logs of the walls were faced on two sides and set close together, and were slotted every four feet for rifles. At one of the corners which had no bastions were double gates, also made of logs, bound by cross and diagonal bars, dovetailed and pinned firmly to them. Each hung on huge, triple hinges of iron.

The two boys returned to the gates, and, setting their backs against one of them and digging their heels in the earth, pushed and swung it ponderously and slowly, until its outer edge caught on a shelving log set in the middle of the entrance to support it and its fellow. Then, as the field-music began to play and the men to assemble in line for retreat roll-call, they swung the second gate in the same way, and braced the two with heavy timbers. The boys then reported the gates closed to the adjutant.

As the companies broke ranks and dispersed the boy sergeants went to the fifth log, to the left of the gates, and swung it back on its hinges. This was one of two secret posterns. On the inside of the wall, when closed, its location was easily noticeable on account of its hinges, latches, and braces; on the outside it looked like any other log in the wall. Their work being completed, the boys asked permission of the adjutant to stand outside the wall and watch for the mail.

"All right, sergeants," said the adjutant; "there is no further duty for you to perform to-day."

Frank and Henry ran through the postern, and arrived on the crest of the bluff overlooking the Prescott road just as a horseman turned up the height. The news that the La Paz courier had arrived spread rapidly through the quarters, and every man not on duty appeared outside the walls.

Joining the boy sergeants, I said, "Boys, if you want to drop the job of opening and closing the gates, it can hereafter be done by the guard."

"Thank you, sir. We took the job, and we'll stick to it," replied Sergeant Frank.

"I wonder if Samson could lift those gates as easily as he did the gates of Gaza?" questioned Henry, seating himself on a log which had been rejected in the building and taking Vic's head in his lap and fondling her silken ears.

"We can't remain here much longer," said Frank; "I think this express will bring an order for us to go to San Francisco."

"Very likely. No doubt life here is not very enjoyable for boys."

"I should say not," said Henry, "for we can't look outside the fort unless a dozen soldiers are along for fear the Apaches 'll get us."

"But you can go to Prescott."

"Prescott!" in a tone of great contempt; "twenty-seven log cabins and five stores, and not a boy in the place—only a dozen Pike County, Missouri, girls."

"And we can't go there with any comfort since Texas Dick and Jumping Jack stole Sancho and Chiquita," added Frank.

Further conversation on this subject was temporarily interrupted by the arrival of the expressman. A roan bronco galloped up the slope, bearing a youthful rider wearing a light buck-skin suit and a soft felt hat with a narrow brim. He was armed with a breech-loading carbine and two revolvers, and carried, attached to his saddle, a roll of blankets, a haversack, and a mail-pouch.

Dismounting, he detached the pouch, at the same time answering questions and giving us items of news later than any contained in his despatches.

After handing his pouch to the quartermaster-sergeant, his eyes fell upon the boy sergeants.

"I saw Texas Dick and Juan Brincos at Cisternas Negras," he said, addressing them.

"My! Did you, Mr. Hudson?" exclaimed Henry, springing to his feet and approaching the courier. "Did they have our ponies?"

"You know I never saw your ponies; but Dick was mounted on a black, with a white star in his forehead, and Juan on a cream-color, with a brown mane and tail."

"Sancho!" said Frank.

"Chiquita!" said Henry.

"Do you know where they were bound?" asked Captain Bayard.

"I did not speak to them, nor did they see me; I thought it would be better to keep out of the way of such desperate characters in a lonely place. I learned from a friend of theirs at Date Creek that they intend to open a monte bank at La Paz."

"Then they are likely to remain there for some time."

"Can't something be done to get the ponies back, sir?" asked Frank.

"Perhaps so. I will consider the matter."

The mail was taken to my office and soon distributed through the command. Among my letters was one from Colonel Burton, the father of the boy sergeants. He said he had been expecting to send for his sons by this mail, but additional detached service had been required of him which might delay their departure from Whipple for another month, if not longer. He informed me that a detail I had received to duty as professor of military science and tactics in a boys' military school had been withheld by the department commander until my services could be spared at Fort Whipple, and that he thought the next mail, or the one following it, would bring an order relieving me and ordering me East. This would enable me to leave for the coast about the first week in November.

Frank and Henry shared my quarters with me, and that evening, seated before an open fire, I read their father's letter, and remarked that perhaps I should be able to accompany them to San Francisco, and, if the colonel consented to their request to go to the military school with me, we might take the same steamer for Panama and New York.

"Oh, won't that be too fine for anything!" exclaimed the younger sergeant. "Then I'll not have to leave Vicky here, after all."

Vic, upon hearing her name called, left her rug at my feet and placed her nose on Henry's knee, and the boy stroked and patted her in his usual affectionate manner.

"Then you have been dreading to leave the doggie?" I asked.

"Yes; I dream all sorts of uncomfortable things about her. She's in trouble, or I am, and I cannot rescue her and she cannot help me. Usually we are parting, and I see her far off, looking sadly back at me."

"Henry is not the only one who dreads to part with Vic," said Frank. "We boys can never forget the scenes at Los Valles Grandes, Laguna, and the Rio Carizo. She saved our lives, helped recover Chiquita, and she helped rescue Manuel, Sapoya, and Henry from the Navajos."

"Yes; but for her I might have lost my brother at La Roca Grande," remarked Henry. "That was probably her greatest feat. Nice little doggie—good little Vicky—are you really to go to San Francisco and the East with us?"

"I believe if I only had Sancho back, and Henry had Chiquita, I should be perfectly happy," observed the elder brother.

After a slight pause, during which the boy seemed to have relapsed into his former depression, Henry asked:

"Do they have cavalry drill at that school?"

"Yes, the superintendent keeps twenty light horses, and allows some of the cadets to keep private animals. All are used in drill."

"And if we get our ponies back, I suppose we shall have to leave them here. Do you think, sir, there is any chance of our seeing them again?" asked Frank.

"Not unless some one can go to La Paz for them. Captain Bayard is going to see me after supper about a plan of his to retake them."

"I wonder what officer he will send?"

"Perhaps I shall go."

"Father could never stand the expense of sending them to the States, I suppose," said Henry, despondently.

"They could easily be sent to the Missouri River without cost," I observed.

"How, please?"

"There is a quartermaster's train due here in a few weeks. It would cost nothing to send the ponies by the wagon-master to Fort Union, and then they could be transferred to another train to Fort Leavenworth."

"Frank, I've a scheme!" exclaimed the younger boy.

"What is it?"

"If Mr. Duncan finds Sancho and Chiquita, let's send them to Manuel Perea and Sapoya on the Rio Grande. When they go to the military school they can take our horses and theirs, and we'll join the cavalry."

"That's so," said Frank. "Manuel wrote that if he went to school he should cross the plains with his uncle, Miguel Otero, who is a freighter. He could take the whole outfit East for nothing. There would remain only the cost of shipping them from Kansas City to the school."

"Yes, but before you cook a hare you must catch him," said I.

"And our two hares are on the other side of the XuacaxÉlla[1] Desert," said Frank, despondently. "I suppose there is small chance of our ever seeing them again."

Our two boy sergeants had found life in Arizona scarcely monotonous, for the hostile Apaches made it lively enough, compelling us to build a defensible post and look well to the protection of our stock. A few years later a large force, occupying many posts, found it difficult to maintain themselves against those Indians, so it cannot seem strange to the reader that our small garrison of a hundred soldiers should find it difficult to do much more than act on the defensive. Close confinement to the reservation chafed the boys.

A ride to Prescott, two miles distant, was the longest the boys had taken alone. Two weeks before this chapter opens they had been invited to dine with Governor Goodwin, the Governor of the Territory, and he had made their call exceedingly pleasant. When, at an advanced hour in the evening, the boys took leave of their host and went to the stable for their horses, they found them gone, with their saddles and bridles.

Inquiries made next day in town elicited the information that two notorious frontier scamps, Texas Dick and Juan Brincos, an American and Mexican, were missing, and it was the opinion of civil and military authorities that they had stolen the ponies. The boys took Vic to the Governor's, and, showing her the tracks of her equine friends, she followed them several miles on the Skull Valley trail. It was plainly evident that the thieves had gone towards the Rio Colorado.

After supper I accompanied the commanding officer to his quarters. He told me that the express had brought him a communication from the department commander, stating that, since Arizona had been transferred to the Department of the Pacific, our stores would hereafter be shipped from San Francisco to the mouth of the Rio Colorado, and up that stream by the boats of the Colorado Steam Navigation Company to La Paz. He said he had decided to send me to La Paz to make arrangements with a freighter for the transportation of the supplies from the company's landing to Fort Whipple.

"And while you are in La Paz," said the captain, "look after those horse-thieves, and turn them over to the civil authorities; but, whether you capture them or not, be sure to bring back the boys' ponies."

"What do you think about allowing the boys to go with me?"

"No doubt they would like it, for life has been rather monotonous to them for some time, especially since they lost their horses. Think it would be safe?"

"No Indians have been seen on the route for some time."

"The 'calm before the storm,' I fear."

"The mail-rider, Hudson, has seen no signs for a long time."

"So he told me. The excursion would be a big treat to the lads, and, with a good escort and you in command, Duncan, I think they will be in no danger. Tell the adjutant to detail a corporal and any twelve men you may select, and take an ambulance and driver."

"Shall I go by Bill Williams Fork or across the XuacaxÉlla?"

"The desert route is the shortest, and the courier says there is water in the Hole-in-the-Plain. There was a rainfall there last week. That will give you water at the end of each day's drive."

I returned to my rooms and looked over an itinerary of the route, with a schedule of the distances, and other useful information. After making myself familiar with all its peculiarities, I told Frank and Henry that if they desired to do so they might accompany me.

They were overjoyed at the prospect. Henry caught Vic by the forepaws and began to waltz about the room. Then, sitting down, he held her head up between his palms and informed her that she was going to bring back Sancho and Chiquita.

"I do not intend to take Vic, Henry," I said.

"Not take Vic? Why not, sir?"

"The road is long and weary—six days going and six returning, over a rough and dry region—and she will be in the way and a constant care to us."

"But how are we going to find our horses without her? She always helps whenever we are in trouble, and she will be sure to assist us in this if we take her," said Sergeant Henry, emphatically.

"She need be no care to you, sir," said the elder boy; "Henry and I will look after her."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, boys, but I cannot take the dog. She will be left with Captain Bayard."

This decision made the boys somewhat miserable for a time. They commiserated the dog over her misfortune, and then turned their attention to preparations for the journey.

"Have you ever been to La Paz?" asked Frank.

"I have never been beyond Date Creek in that direction," I replied.

"Is the XuacaxÉlla really a desert?"

"Only in the rainless season. Grasses, cacti, and shrubbery not needing much moisture grow there. One of the geological surveys calls it Cactus Plain. It is one hundred miles long. There is water in a fissure of a mountain-spur on one side called the Cisternas Negras, or Black Tanks, but for the rest of the distance there was formerly no water except in depressions after a rainfall, a supply that quickly evaporated under a hot sun and in a dry atmosphere. A man named Tyson has lately sunk a well thirty miles this side of La Paz."

"It was at Black Tanks the expressman saw Texas Dick and Juan Brincos with our ponies," said Henry. "What a queer name that is!—Juan Brincos, John Jumper, or Jumping Jack, as nearly every one calls him."

"He is well named; he has been jumping stock for some years."

"I thought Western people always hanged horse-thieves?"

"Not when they steal from government. Western people are too apt to consider army mules and horses common property, and they suppose your ponies belong to Uncle Sam."

"Frank," said Henry, just before the boys fell asleep that night, "I felt almost sure we should recapture the ponies when I thought Vic was going, but now I'm afraid we never shall see them again."