The elder brother nodded curtly. “Go ahead, Gus,” he said. “Give Paul your view of it.” Thus granted the floor, Young Van briefly laid out the situation. “We put your orders into effect this morning, Mr. Carhart, and shortened the allowance of drinking water. In an hour the men began to get surly--just as they did the other time. But we kept them under until an hour or so ago. Then the sheriff of Clark County--a man named Lane, Bow-legged Bill Lane,”--Young Van smiled slightly as he pronounced the name,--“rode in with a large posse. It seems he is on the trail of a gang of thieves, greasers, army deserters, and renegades generally. He had one brush with them some miles below here,--I think I had better tell you about this before I go on,--but they broke up into small parties and got away from him. He had some reason to think that they would work up this way, and try to stampede our horses and mules some night. He advises arming our men, and keeping up more of a guard at night. Another thing; he says that a good many Apaches are hanging around us,--he has seen signs of them over there in the hills,--and while they would never bother such a large party as this of ours, Bow-legged Bill”--he smiled again--“thinks it would be best to arm any small parties we may send out. If the Indians thought Harry Scribner, for instance, had anything worth stealing they might give him some trouble.” “Send half-a-dozen wagons forward to him to-morrow, under Dimond,” said Carhart, briefly. “See that they carry rifles and cartridges enough for Scribner’s whole party. And wire Tiffany to send on three hundred more rifles.”