stop us," growled the wagon-boss. "Ain't goin' to be no easy thing gettin' on this trip. We've got a hoodoo sure, and it's just that cur of young Green's, I'm thinking."

Up on top of one of the wagons was a sergeant looking over the plains through a field-glass. It was this observer who interrupted the disconsolate conversation below.

"By the Lord Harry!" he shouted. "Indians, and a hundred of them or I miss my guess!"

"What's that, Sergeant? " cried the lieutenant. "Look again."

For fully three minutes the sergeant said nothing, and every one of the dozen soldiers and the half-dozen drivers turned anxious faces upward toward him. The next cry was one of greater alarm.

"Quick!" came the order,-" out with that fire! They 're Indians sure enough; and what is worse, they have their warpaint on and are between us and the Fort! O Lord, it's too late! They 've seen us, and here they come!"

A quick spring from a wheel to the top of the wagon-cover and a single glance by the lieutenant confirmed the worst of the sergeant's observation. And then quick work and no commotion. Every man in that little party had braved death before. Every man knew his place.. Nobody grumbled now because of the precaution he had complained of as unnecessary.

In almost a moment the dusk comes on. It is late autumn, and here, with the mountains not many miles behind to the west, the day surrenders to the night with scarcely a struggle. Three hours of waiting with scarcely a word. No sign of the foe; yet every man knows that the foe is out there on the plain, treacherous, persistent, certain as death itself. Not one is to be lulled into a sense of security. The have been too long on the plains for that. There is some crafty plot behind all this silence.

The lieutenant and the wagon-boss discussed the situation. Then the word passed about the wagons: "Half of you in each wagon go to sleep, if you can. They will probably let us alone to-night, for they have n't had a good sight of us yet, and they don't have any idea how many of us are in here. Besides they may

be waiting for others to make them surer of your hair."

Jack lay behind a pile of feed carried in sacks for the mules and thought it all out. He was hardly counted on as a fighter; but he had his rifle by his side, and was prepared to sell his life as dearly as any man in the company. But fear alone was not the only trouble on Jack's mind.

"O Chummie, Chummie!" he cried softly, "is it true what the wagon-boss said? Did you cause it all? Shall we all be killed on your account?"

Then Jack was seized with an inspiration.

"O, Lieutenant!" he whispered, "Chummie 'll save us if he gets time. You write it all. I ain't much of a hand at writin', but you put it all down."

Are you crazy, Green? What do you mean? questioned the troubled Lieutenant testily.

"No, I ain't crazy. Chummie used to run errands to the Major an' carry notes. Maybe he will now," Jack exclaimed in an agony of excitement.

The lieutenant saw the reasonableness of Jack's hope in a moment and prepared the message.

"To the Major!" commanded Jack.

Chummie looked as if he thought that Jack could n't mean it. Why, it was a good thirty-five miles back! Could Jack mean it?

"To the Major!" repeated Jack more sternly, but he broke with a sob.

Chummie hesitated no longer but started at a good round trot, for it was a long way there and back to Jack.

Never was silence more painful than to those eighteen men and that boy. Would he make it? Could he make it? Would he get through the line of foes out there in the dark without the message of life and death being seen? Would he hurry? Could he feel that the only hope of men and of his master depended on his trot, trot, trot over the alkali plain? Could the message, if it ever reached the Fort, h read? For it had gone in his mouth. To tie it upon him meant even greater danger of its being seen by those seekers for blood or being overlooked by friends.

A long fearful night; and hours as long and fearful under the sun. No eye once

turned from straight in front, no hand off a rifle in all that dreadful time. And still no sign of anything to fear. Not a strange object to be seen over the miles of mud-covered plain, baking in the sun, and apparently so level that neither man nor beast could hug it so closely as to escape detection. But the depressions and the ravines are there though the naked eye may not be able to pick them out, and in them are indeed the seekers for blood, as patient as the serpent, and as ferocious as the tiger. It is well that the men behind the wagon barricade know their foes.

Toward the close of the afternoon the wagon-boss broke the long silence. "Our hour 's about here," he said. "They won't be long now. They've found that we know them, and they won't wait till dark to see what we're made of. Then, when they find us wantin' in size, they'll come at us. Mind their circling act. Don't waste many shots on 'em till they get close up and come straight at us, for it takes an almighty good marksman to hit an Injun on the off-side of his cayuse. Jes' keep 'em busy and thoughtful enough as long as you can, seein' as nobody can tell what might happen along, you know."

The old plainsman was right. Here at last comes the merciless foe. The plain is alive with them on all sides. From all points they ride with their blood-curdling yells, and their besmeared faces no less horrible to the nerves of those doomed to become their victims. First that dreadful circle. Round and round they ride, now within rifle-shot, but out of sight on the far side of their ponies, clinging with one hand and foot as only such riders can cling, and ser ding missiles of death from underneath the breasts of the steeds, which are ever urged to a faster, faster gallop. Closer and closer the circle draws and quicker ring out the rifle-shots. It will be but a moment now until the final struggle is on.

Steady now! Here comes the rush!” rings out the warning of the old wagonboss. "Make every bullet count! They're coming straight!"

Yes, but something else came first. Before the circle of flying ponies turned inward, a heavy yellow, mud-incrusted mass broke through it and ran straight to Jack.

"Oh Chummie, Chummie!" moaned Jack as his arms went up to pull his friend down behind the sacks. "You turned back! You did n't go! You did n't go! O, Chummie, you're shot! You're shot!"

Then he heard the order of the wagonboss above the din of the rifles. "Shoot boy, shoot! Never mind that yeller cur! Shoot, shoot!"

But still louder than the stentorian cry of the wagon-boss, louder than gun-shot, or curse, or savage whoop of war, out over the plain comes the tremulous blast of the rescuers' bugle.

It was all over in a moment. Jack saw it all in a haze,-the rescue, the flight of the foe, the close pursuit! He sank down by the side of wounded Chummie with tears in his eyes, and then he gave

shout

of joy just as he heard another cry so different from that of the wagon-boss but a moment before: "Jack, my boy! Jack! Jack! Answer!"

A dozen of the cavalry had turned back from the chase of the murderous Indians and came thundering toward the little barricade. At their head rode the Colonel, a grand old man to see ahorse to-day, despite his excessive flesh and his fussy temper.

"Here, Colonel, here!" shouted Jack in reply..

A second later and the Colonel drew rein and fairly threw himself from his horse's back.

Jack! God bless you, boy! Are you hurt? Is anybody hurt?"

"Not a soul, I think, Colonel, except Chummie; but 't ain't so bad's I thought. It's only a little on the shoulder," answered Jack, still in a choked voice.

Chummie's tongue showed the location of his wound, and the. Colonel looked shamefaced in the sight of Jack's grief.

"Good fellow," he said encouragingly. "He really beat us here! Well, he had an hour's start, and, anyhow, a dog gets over mud better than a horse. I really thought we never would get to you through the gumbo."

As the Colonel talked, Jack remembered his soldierly training, and he flushed guiltily as his hand went up to give the customary salute which he had overlooked in his excitement.

"Chummie, you 're the cause of it all," said Jack, seeking escape for his oversight. ""Tention! Salute your Colonel!"

Chummie was still panting with exhaustion. He got up on his hind legs very slowly and unsteadily, but when he sought to perform his poor little trick he only gave a yelp of pain and tottered foolishly, with never an idea that when one injures his right hand in the cause of Uncle Sam the left will do for all courtesies of an official character.

And then the Colonel did a queer thing. He went down on his knees in the mud, and carefully eased Chummie to the ground and stroked his wounded leg very tenderly. It occurred to Jack at the moment that it was for caring for an injury of that same paw that he had earned Chummie's undying friendship, and as he listened to the Colonel's talk he was amazed as he had never been before.

"Never mind the salute, Private Chummie," said the Colonel. "I know you for a true soldier, and obedience under pain is n't all that you have learned.

There

will be no reprimands to-day, you know; but I'll tell you what we'll do. If you and Jack will forgive me for that wound, we 'll take you back to the Fort, and we 'll put you on sick leave, and we'll detail Jack to nurse you, and we'll make you a corporal with full authority to draw on the best in the commissary." He paused and studied a bit, and others beside Jack listened.

"No," continued the Colonel, "we'll do better than that. We'll commission you a lieutenant extraordinary, and you will hereafter have full rights at all times in officers' quarters. I would n't lose you from my regiment for a million of the best cats on earth!"

When those hardened men of army and plain, led by the wagon-boss gathered about and gave three cheers and the mightiest of tigers for the new lieutenant, Chummie licked his shoulder, looked gratefully at the Colonel for his caress, and did n't have the least surmise in the world what all the bother was about. But Jack knew!

I'

T WAS one of San Francisco's foggy mornings, and the July fogs of the early '60's were quite as thick as those of the present. Perhaps they were thicker. for then there was but a strip of buildings located along the eastern edge of the peninsula, whereas now, from the ocean to the bay, the fog must fight its way among streets and houses and warm chimneys, so that when it gets "down town" it has become thin and attenuated. Then, as if weary from the struggle, it settles on the bay, and rests as quietly as on the bosom of its mother, the ocean. But the sun works at it and drives and pushes and breaks it up into little swirling clouds. which he coaxes and calls until they disappear, and by noon it has gone and the sunshine is unhindered.

As I opened the door that morning the fog was so dense that I could not see the opposite side of the street. The steps were wet and great drops splashed from the

roof to the sidewalk, while the white vapor wrapped itself around me as I stood in the doorway. doorway. I hesitated; if it had not been steamer-day I should have waited another hour before going to work, but the mailships sailed only twice a month, and, as the time of their departure was also collection-day, we were very busy writing letters and squaring accounts.

I turned up my coat-collar and plunged into the fog. The streets were full of people, and, as usual on steamer-day, men were hurrying around with sacks of gold in their hands or slung over their shoulders, collecting or paying bills.

I turned into Sansome Street just behind a young man who was carrying one of these canvas bags. He walked a little faster than I, and into the gradually widening space between us there came a man whose appearance so interested me that I quickened my steps and kept near him, he following closely the bearer of the coin.

I could see only the side-face and back of the new-comer, who was a man well along in years. He was tall and very thin. The dampness had twisted his gray hair into waves, by making it attempt to curl wherever its length permitted. His face. was curiously colorless, with good features. He wore no overcoat, and his suit of black broadcloth, though carefully brushed, was shabby, the seams marking their length with lines of shiny gray. His silk hat was also much the worse for wear. One hand rested in a sling made of a white handkerchief, and in the other he carried a stout cane which he flourished as he walked.

We maintained our relative distances for about half a block, then the tall man pushed ahead. As he passed, he swung his cane near the canvas bag, and I noticed the curious fact that it at once became stained a yellowish brown. I thought at first that some mud from the cane had fallen on it, but as I went nearer I saw that it was not mud but a liquid which had been squirted on the bag.

My impulse was to follow the tall man. but he had disappeared in the fog; so I kept quietly by the side of the unsuspecting guardian of the treasure. Several

minutes passed, and nothing happened. I was beginning to think I had imagined the whole occurrence, when suddenly the sack burst and the gold jingled down on the sidewalk, rolling in all directions.

Immediately a crowd gathered. In the midst of it stood the bewildered youth with the empty bag in his hand, too much astonished at the misfortune to even make an effort to save the money. On the edge of the crowd hung hoodlums and active gamins, like hawks waiting to snatch their prey.

Then the scene changed. The tall man had heard the noise, and came running back out of the fog. He took command, and in an instant order was restored.

"Form a ring, and protect this poor fellow!" he cried, and the respectable members of the crowd joined hands in a large circle, having in the center the scattered gold and the youth who was responsible for it.

"Now, some of you go and help him gather it into his hat," was the next suggestion. While it was being carried out, the

tall man ran here and there, holding his crippled arm out from his body so that his quick motions should not jar it, threatening and driving back with his cane those who seemed likely to make trouble. One moment he was inside the circle, hurrying over the gold to point out a piece which seemed in danger of being overlooked or picked up by an outsider. Then he darted to the gutter, where his quick eyes had seen the glitter of a yellow coin. before it sank under the mud. One hand was helpless, and the other held the cane, so he could not pick up the pieces himself, but he proved invaluable in pointing them out to others, and directed the affair with the ability and promptitude of a commanding general.

He received the hearty thanks of the young man, who, after expressing his gratitude, retired to a neighboring store to count his hatful of gold.

The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had come. I followed the tall man through the fog, which he evidently relied on to cover his retreat, to the What Cheer House, where I saw him take a key from his pocket and enter his room.

No sooner had he closed the door than I knocked at it. He opened it immediately, politely invited me to come in, and waited for me to speak.

"Pardon me for intruding," I said; "but I just now saw you protecting the fellow who dropped his sack on the street, and I wished to congratulate you on your presence of mind and efficient action."

"Ah, yes," he replied; "there are always plenty of people who are ready to steal on such occasions, and I think I saved the young man some of his goldpieces.

Very likely. But if you do not mind telling me, I have a pleasant curiosity to know your game."

"What do you mean, sir? You surely do not intend to insult me!"

"No, I saw the whole thing,-squirting the acid and all, but I did not see that you got any of the money. Now, I am not a detective, and do not intend to interfere in your affairs. If you will tell me your game I will go away satisfied; otherwise, I will hand you over to the policeman who is waiting at the outer door."

The man showed more anger than fear.

Putting his hand to his pistol-pocket, he said:

“I have a mind to blow your head off for a meddlesome fool!"

"That would hang you, and yet would not satisfy my curiosity," I replied.

He kept his keen black eyes fastened on me for several seconds. I met his gaze steadily, wondering what his next move would be. He walked to the table, laid his pistol on it, and sat down beside it. "I believe you are right," he said," and I had better trust you.'

Then, throwing one leg over the other, he showed me the bottom of his boot. It had a broad sole with a soft, narrow welt around the edge, and inside of that was covered with a very sticky gum in which were imbedded two double-eagles.

A

S THE days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, his hopes grew also. And he prayed daily for her whom he adored. Prayed that she might have her heart's desire, her greatest wish, for he well knew what fair, pure things her inmost thoughts could be.

And now the year was almost done,and at last the day came, the anniversary of the day on which she had promised him that, when another year had passed without news of that Other, he might, if he still wished, take what was left of her love and life.

He went to her, filled with an exultation he could not conceal, and a joy that he felt no power on earth could shadow.

She met him with face pale as death, but with wonderfully luminous eyes, and when, for the first time, he sought her lips to kiss, she drew away a little and said, "You must not!"

As he stood, a numbness seized him, and he could not speak; she, watching him while tears of pity filled her eyes, drew from her dress a folded paper and held it out. He reached toward it, gropingly, as one blinded, and she put it into his hands.

He read, slowly, for the light was dim to him,-"Just released from Russian

prison. Am following this." The signature was that of the man she loved, and who loved her.

The wording seemed more brutally concise than that of any dispatch he had ever read before. The paper escaped from his hand and fluttered slowly, turning over as it went, down upon the carpet.

His eye followed it and noted the design woven there. The woven figures moved, coming toward him, and bringing the paper nearer. He shrank back, then the figures ran together with a sharp sound that made him start, and he saw only a gray space, with throbbing fires where the figures had been.

Then a sob roused him, and he saw her weeping.

He went to her quickly, smiling, and held out his hands. She put her own into them, and then he said, "Good-by." She could not speak for the tears that choked her.

He came close, and then, reverently, as one kisses the loved dead, his lips touched her smooth brow, and even as one prays for the dead, he murmured, just as he had prayed so long, "May God grant your heart's desire," and went out into the darkness, chill with the rising fog.