"Why, confound it! yes. I try to convince myself it's only imagination; but two or three times, far out there towards the Picacho, I've heard that whip cracking. I have felt sure there was a hammering sound, as though some one were pounding on a wagon-tire. Once I was sure I heard a horse snort. _That_ I was in a measure expecting. If those fellows mean to attack, they'll come mounted, of course; but what wagon would they have?" "One of Ceralvo's, perhaps, to cart off the safe in, if they couldn't bust into it here." "There! Hark now, sergeant! didn't you hear?" suddenly spoke the major, throwing up a warning hand. Both men held their breath, listening intently. For a moment nothing but the beating of their own hearts served to give the faintest sound. Then, out to the west, under the starlit vault of the heavens, somewhere in that black expanse of desert, plainly and distinctly there rose the measured sound of iron or stone beating on iron. Whether it were tire or linch-pin, hame or brake, something metallic about a wagon or buck-board was being pounded into place or shape. "It's them, sir," muttered the sergeant; "it's that bloody gang, for there's no stage due to-night, and if it was Harvey's ambulance, recaptured, 'tis from the northeast it would be coming." "Mightn't they have missed the trail in the darkness, and, having no ranch lights to guide them, got lost somewhere out there?" "Not likely, sir; shure there'd be a squad of the troop and half a dozen old hands with 'em if it was Harvey's. This has come from the pass, and it won't be long before they'll be coming ahead. You'll need your carbine then. Damn that man Mullan! can't I wake him yet?" Apparently not; even the well-directed kick only evoked a groan. Taking a couple of carbines, Feeny returned to the major, silently handing him one of the weapons, saying, "It's loaded, sir, and here's more cartridges." Then again both men listened intently. No sound now. The hammering had ceased. One--two minutes they waited, then nearer at hand than before, clear, sharp, and distinct, out from the darkness came the unmistakable crack of a whip. At the sound Feeny knelt. Click, click went the hammer of his carbine to full cock. Another moment of breathless silence. Then the muffled sound of hoofs, the creak of wagon-springs, then a voice,-- "It can't be far away. Ride ahead and see if you can't rout somebody out." And then Feeny's challenge again rang out on the still night air, followed instantly by muffled sound of stir and excitement in the ranch behind them. "Who comes there?" "Hello! What's that? Who's that? Is that Moreno?" "Who comes _there_, I say? Halt! or I'll fire." "For God's sake don't fire, man; we've got ladies here." "What ladies? Who are you anyhow? Quick!" "George Harvey's daughters, of Tucson. I'm his son." "God be praised!" shouted Feeny, springing to his feet and rushing forward. "Are they all safe?--unharmed? Where did you overtake them?"