In any event, the first duty--the obvious one--for Harris and his scouts was to reach the spot with all speed; ascertain, if possible, the fate of the ranch folk, then act as their discoveries might direct. All this Harris was turning over in mind as he hurried ahead. The road, though little worn, was distinct, and now that they were out of the bottom and skirting the stony bed of a little mountain stream, quite firm and dry. Six miles an hour, easily, his swarthy, half-naked fellows were making without ever "turning a hair." His own lean broncho, long trained to such work, scrambled along in that odd, short-legged trot, and Harris himself, trained to perfection, hard and dry, all sinewy strength, rode easily along--he could have done almost as well afoot--at the head of his men, keeping them to their pace, yet never overdriving. But with Willett the case was different. For him there had been no hard and dry scouting. It had been wet work in the Columbia country. It had been "hunt-your-hole business" in the lava beds, where the hat that showed above the rocks was sure to get punctured. Then the month of feasting in that most lavish of cities, "'Frisco, the Golden," and the fortnight's voyage by sea, with further symposiums, and finally some hours of frontier hospitality at Prescott and at Almy, all had combined to spoil his condition, and before he had ridden forty minutes Hal Willett found himself blown and shaken. He lagged behind to regain breath, then galloped forward to lose it. He knew that Harris had left him in anger and indignation not unjustifiable. He knew he had not full warrant for his authority. He knew Harris was entitled to unhampered command, and that he had hampered. Yet, now, believing that Harris was pushing swiftly ahead as much to "shake" him as to reach the scene, he again dug spurs to his laboring troop horse, and came sputtering over the loose stones to the young leader's side. "Harris," he puffed, "this is no way to work your men. They'll be blown when you get there, and of no earthly use." "You don't know them," answered Harris, with exasperating calm, and without so much as a symptom of slowing up. "But--I know how it affects--me,--and I'm no novice at scouting." "You are to--this sort of thing, anyhow," was the uncompromising answer, and then with a cool, comprehensive glance that seemed to take in the entire man, he added, "You're out of training, Willett--the one thing a man has to watch out for in Apache work. Better let me leave a couple of men with you, and come on easily. You won't be very far behind us." And then, as bad luck would have it, 'Tonio came cantering up from the rear, his big, lop-eared mule protesting to the last, and 'Tonio bore a little folded paper.