"As he crossed the alkali bed all his thoughts flew on ahead To the little band at the cow-ranch, thinking not of danger near, With his quirt's unceasing whirl and the jingle of his spurs Little brown Chapo bore the cowboy far away from a far frontier. "Lower and lower sank the sun, he drew reins at Rocky Run. 'Here those men met death, my Chapo!' and he stroked his horse's mane. 'So shall those we go to warn, ere the breaking of the morn, If I fail, God help my Bessie!' And he started out again. "Sharp and keen the rifle shot woke the echoes of the spot. 'I am wounded!' cried Veniro, as he swayed from side to side. 'Where there is life there is always hope, onward slowly I will lope. I may never reach the cow-ranch—Bessie dear shall know I tried. "'I will save her yet,' he cried, 'Bessie Lee shall know I died For her sake!' And then he halted in the shadow of a hill. From a branch a twig he broke, and he dipped his pen of oak In the warm blood that spurted from the wound above his heart. "From his chaps he took, with weak hand, a little book, Tore a blank leaf from it, saying, 'This shall be my will.' He arose and wrote: 'Too late! Apache warriors lay in wait. Good-bye, Bess, God bless you, darling!' And he felt the warm blood start. "And he made his message fast—love's first letter and its last— To his saddle horn he tied it, while his lips were white with pain. 'Take this message, if not me, safe to little Bess,' said he. Then he tied himself to the saddle and gave his horse the rein. "Just at dusk a horse of brown, wet with sweat, came panting down Through the little lane at the cow-ranch and stopped at Bessie's door. But the cowboy was asleep and his slumbers were so deep That little Bess could not awake him, if she were to try forevermore. * * * * * "Now you have heard this story told, by the young and by the old, Way down there at the cow-ranch the night the Apaches came. Heard them speak of the bloody fight, how the chief fell in the flight And of those panic-stricken warriors, when they speak Veniro's name." * * * * * "Ay, _los_ Ah-paches!" sighed Marcelina, looking wistfully up the trail. "No _ai_ Ah-paches in mountains now, Babe?" "No, Marcelina," soothed Angy, "all gone now. Soldiers watch 'em—San Carlos." "_Que malo, los Indios!_" shuddered Marcelina. "I am afraid—_quien sabe?_—who can tell?—I am afraid some bad men shall keel—ah, when say Paycos, he will come?" "'I'll come a-runnin'—watch for my dust'—that's all he wrote when I told him you was home. Can't you see no dust nor nothin'?" "There is leetle smoke, like camp-fire, up the valley—and Creet's vaqueros come home down Tonto trail. Pretty soon sundown—nobody come."