In two hours the cayuse carried his rider over the sandy bank of the Beaver and down into the stream. The river was shallow, and in the middle of it Silver Heels caught his promised drink--a small one, however, for a warm horse, who is to stand for some time, has no business with his fill of water. Ascending the opposite bank carefully, Dell left the trail and backed Silver Heels into a thicket of paloverde. There she dismounted, and, with reins over one arm, sat down in the warm sand in front of her horse, waiting for Patterson and watching the ford. Coyotes yelped in the hills; at intervals, from somewhere, came the shrill, humanlike scream of a mountain lion; gray forms of desert-rats slid across the open stretch in front of her, and the ungainly form of a Gila monster shambled slowly near, only to puff himself up and blow when she rolled a stone, and then turn and shamble off into the thick bushes again. None of these things did Dell heed. She was used to such sights and sounds. Only the crawling form of an Apache would have aroused her from her position in the sand. The slow minutes dragged on, but without bringing the messenger from Grant. She began to fear that, after all, Patterson had not taken the trail she had followed from Grant. Certainly the sergeant had not been long in following her from the post. If he did not come, she would traverse the country to Bonita alone. She could do it, and easily, and she was not afraid. But she would have preferred to travel with Patterson. Just as she was on the point of giving up her wait, mounting and continuing south alone, a fall of galloping hoofs reached her ears from north of the river. Presently a horseman came into sight, splashed into the stream, watered his horse, and made for the southern bank. Dell strained her eyes. Undoubtedly it was Patterson. The moonlight silvered against his belt-buckle and struck a gleam from the carbine at his saddle-horn. With cautious looks to right and left, the sergeant rode out of the river and up the bank. Dell arose, mounted, and gathered up the reins in one hand. The alert sergeant, hearing movements among the low trees, drew to a halt and unshipped his carbine in a flash. The gun was at his shoulder and leveled before Dell had showed herself. “Don’t shoot, sergeant!” the girl called. “What the blazes----” Patterson did not lower the gun, and the words merely evidenced his complete astonishment. “Who are ye?” “Dell Dauntless. I’ve been waiting for you.” Thereupon Dell pushed out into the open, and Patterson gave vent to a low whistle and lowered his gun. “Here’s a surprise-party!” he muttered. “You must have come a-smokin’ to be waiting here like this.” “I did. I was afraid the colonel would send some one after me.” “That was sure a good guess. He sent two men after ye, but they gave up and went back. What’re you intendin’ to do, Miss Dauntless?” “Ride with you.” “By all the rules o’ the game, I reckon I ought to send ye back.”