To the west, near the base of the mountains, a fringe of cottonwoods and willows marked a water course; there the herbage of the plain was a richer green. Stephen almost fancied he could seen the water sparkling among the trees, then he remembered that their own supply was wholly exhausted. Rogers seemed to understand what was passing in his mind; he touched him on the arm. “We could never have made it, Mr. Landray,” he said regretfully. “They'd have cut us off in the open.” The horsemen who had ridden away toward the west were now nearing the cottonwoods. Rogers turned from regarding them to look at the forted wagons. “Your brother 'll fix the camp snug enough. I reckon after he gets finished we can make it hot for the redskin who thinks his road lays across the top of this hill.” “You have told me of these fights; what chance have we?” asked Stephen gravely. “No twenty men that ever lived can cross them wagon poles unless we are willing they should.” “But why should they attempt that when they can keep us here on a strain until our powder and lead is exhausted, or the need of water forces us to abandon the hill?” “I reckon that'll be their game; but see here, by the time our guns are silent we may have them pretty considerably crippled up. I needn't tell you that twenty men in the open against six with good cover like we got, have their work ahead of them.” “Look!” cried Stephen, pointing. On the edge of the cottonwoods which they had just reached, the horsemen were joined by a much larger party which suddenly rode out of the timber. “We reckoned 'em too quick and too few,” said Rogers simply. “There's forty or fifty of the varments.” The horsemen were now galloping toward the hill. Rogers watched them in silence, then turned again to Stephen. “Good God! Mr. Landray, don't you see no difference?” the Californian demanded almost angrily. Stephen's lack of all suspicion was too much for him. “There is a difference in dress, if that is what you mean.” “Yes, that; and do you note the size of their horses?” “They are smaller certainly.” “I wa'n'. going to let you know, but it's a heap easier to be fair with you; those down yonder's white men; this new lot's Indians—there's no mistaking that.” “What!” cried Stephen in astonishment. “It's Basil and Raymond and some cutthroats from the valley trigged out to look like redskins.” “Nonsense, Rogers, that's the wildest surmise; how can you know that?” “You don't believe me. Well, I seen him.” “You saw whom? Basil?” “No, Raymond.” “The deserter—when?”