The watchman and southron. [volume] (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, 1894-02-28

fire still glowed in deep crevice among
the rocks, was there light Of any KIND
to be seen. A lonely spot was this IN
which to spend ones days, yet the SOL
dier in charge seemed in no wise op-
pressed with sense Of isolation. It
was his comrade, sitting modify on
convenient rock, elbows on knees and
chin deep buried in his brown and hairy
hands. who seemed brooding over the
desolation Of his surroundings.
Watching him in silence a nom ent,
quiet smile Of amusement on his lips,
Sergeant Wing sauntered over and
placed a friendly hand on the broad
blue shoulder.
We'll, Pikey, are you wishing your
self back in 'Frisco?''
''I'm wishing myself in Tophet, SER
geant; it may be hotter, but it isn't as
lonely as this Internal hole
''No, its populous enough probably
was the response; and" added he,
with a whimsical smile, mo doubt
you've lots of friends there, Pike
Maybe have, and maybe haven't.
At all events, I've none here. Why in
thunder couldn't you let me look into
that business over at Ceralyo's instead
Of Jackson? He gets everything worth
having. I'm shelved for his sake day
after day.
Couldn't send you, Pike, on any
such quest as that. Those greasers have
sharp eyes, and one look at your face
would convince them that we'd lost
our grip or were in for funeral.
Jackson, now, rides in as blithe as
May morning. May morning out Of
Arizona, I mean. They never get the
best of him. The only trouble is he
stays too long; he ought to be back here
now"
Humph! he'll be apt to come back
in a hurry with Pat Donovan and those
G troop fellows spending their money
like water at Ceralvo's.'
"You still insist they're over there,
do you, Pike? I think they're not. I
tagged cid Feeny half an hour ago
that they hadn't come through here. -
"Who was that fellow who rode back
here with the note?'' asked Pike.
''I don't know his name. 'Dutchy'
they call him in c troop. He's on
his second enlistment. -
More fool he! The man who re-en-
lists in this territory must be either
drunk or Dutch. And Pike relapsed
into gloomy silence again, his eyes
fixed upon the faint flicker of the bar
lights at Ceralvo's miles away, but
Wing only laughed again, and still
putting away at his pipe went on down
the winding trail to where in the deep
shelter of the rocky walls a pool of
water lay cleaning. Here he threw
himself fat, and lying aside his pre-
cious pipe drank long and eagerly; then
with a sudden plunge he doused his hot
face in the cooling food and came up
dripping.
''Thank the Lord I have no desert
march to make today-all on wild
goose chase, - was his pious ejacula-
ton. What on earth could have in
duced the paymaster to send detach-
ment over to the Gila:" He took from
his pocket penciled note and slowly
twisted it in his fingers. It was too
dark to read, but in its soldierly brevity
be almost knew it by heart.
''The major sent Donovan with half
the escort back to the Gila on an Apache
scare this morning. They will prob
ably return your way. empty handed.
Signal if they have passed. Latham
knows yorr code and we have good
glass. Send man to Ceralvo's with
orders for them to join at once if they
haven't come, and flag or torch when
they pass you. It's my belief they've
gone there.
This was signed by Feeny and over
and again had Wing been specializing
as to what it all meant. When the es-
cort with the ambulance and paymaster
went through before the dawn, Feeny
had reused him to ask if anything had
been heard Of Indians on the warpath
between them and the Sonora line, and
the answer was both prompt and posi-
tive, "No.'' AS for their being north
or north of west of his :ctation. and up
toward the Gila, Wing secuted the sug-
gestion. He wished, however, that
Jackson were back with such tidings as
he had picked up at Ceralvo's. It was
always best to be prepared, even though
this was some distance away from the
customary raiding ground Of the tribe.
Just then there came a hail from
aloft. Pikey was shouting.
''All right, - answered Wing cheer
lily; ''be there in minute, I" and then
he went springing up the trail as though
the climb OF 400 feet were mere bag
atelle.
What's up? Jackson here:" he
asked, short Of breath, as he reached the
little nook in which their brush covered
tents we're pitched. There was no re-
ply. -,
pike! O Pike! Where are you?'
he called.
And presently, faint and far, some
where down in the dark canyon to the
south, voice replied: