“Yonder is the mouth of the Canyon, sir,” said the sergeant, pointing to a rift in the range to the south, now gorgeously lighted up by the morning sunshine. “How long is the defile, sergeant?” “Not more than four miles, sir--that is, the Canyon itself--but it is crooked as a ram's horn, and the approach on the other side is a long, winding valley.” “When were you there last?” asked Staines. “About six months ago, just after Dins-more was murdered.” Staines turned quickly away and strolled back a few yards along the road. “You knew Dinsmore, then?” asked the paymaster. “I knew him well, sir. We had served together during the war. They said he fell in love with a pretty Mexican girl at Tucson, and she would not listen to him. Some of the men heard that she was a daughter of old Pedro who keeps that ranch, and that it was hoping to see her that he went there.” “I know. I remember hearing about it all then,” said the paymaster. “Did you ever see anything of the man who was said to have killed him?” “Sonora Bill? No, sir; and I don't know anyone who ever did. He was always spoken of as the chief of a gang of cutthroats and stage robbers down around Tucson. They used to masquerade as Apaches sometimes--that's the way they were never caught. The time they robbed Colonel Wood and killed his clerk 'I' troop was scouting not ten miles away, and blessed if some of the very gang didn't gallop to Lieutenant Breese and swear the Apaches had attacked their camp here in Canyon del Muerto, so that when the lieutenant was wanted to chase the thieves his troop couldn't be found anywhere--he was 'way up here hunting for Apaches in the Maricopa range. The queer thing about that gang was that they always knew just when a paymaster's outfit or a Government officer with funds would be along. It was those fellows that robbed Major Rounds, the quartermaster, and jumped the stage when Lieutenant Spaulding and his wife were aboard. She had beautiful diamonds that they were after, but the lieutenant fooled them--he had them sent by express two days afterward.” Mr. Staines came back toward the ambulance at this moment, took a field glass from its case, and retraced his steps along the road some twenty yards. Here he adjusted the glass and looked long toward the northeast. “All ready to start, sir,” said the driver. The major swung himself up to his seat; the troopers quietly “sinched” their saddles and mounted, and still the clerk stood there absorbed. “Come, Staines!” shouted the paymaster, impatiently, “we're waiting for you.” And still he did not move. The sergeant whirled his horse about and clattered back to where he stood. “Come, sir, the major's waiting.” Staines turned abruptly and, silent as ever, hurried to the wagon. “What were you staring at so long?” said the paymaster, pettishly, as his assistant clambered in. “I shouted two or three times.” Staines' face was pale, yet there were drops of sweat upon his brow.