letter I gave him addressed to the First National Bank of Santa Fé,

because I had enclosed in it a telegram to my old pard here, and the bank forwarded it to him all O. K. But I'm a little doubtful as to what became of those letters to the governor and the general. I want to know why those soldiers weren't sent."

"Hm-m," said the army doctor; "it so happens that I was conversing with both Governor Stone and General Merewether only yesterday before starting, and we were talking about the route by here to Wingate, and the difficulty of the Rio Grande being in flood, but they never said a word about any report of trouble with the Navajos."

"You don't say!" said Stephens; "and you didn't pass any troops on the road anywhere along?"

"Certainly not," said the other; "in fact, if any troops had been coming this way, I should probably have accompanied them. But I am in a position to state that no detail of troops of any kind has left Santa Fé for a week or more."

"Well, I'm dashed!" said the prospector; "they would have said something to you about it, sure, if they ever got my letters." He was silent.

"Mahletonkwa must have told the straight truth for once in his life," he reflected, "and that rascal of a postmaster must have actually had the face to burn those letters I gave him, and, what's more, now he's dead we'll never prove it on him in God's world. Not that it would be any use if we could. The mischief's done now so far as he could do it, but it's the last he'll ever do, sure. The letter I gave the stage-driver was all right. He couldn't get at that."

Stephens never knew how near his letter to the Bank, with the telegram for Rocky, had come to sharing the fate of the others. But the stage-driver, though he might talk and bluster, had no real motive for destroying it, and he did have a healthy fear of the Post-Office Department. Mr. Backus had a motive, and did not share the other's wholesome dread of his official superiors.

While Stephens was pondering over the fate of his letters, he slipped one hand in an absent-minded way into his side pocket, and there he stumbled on exactly what he most wanted at that moment, a good excuse for taking Rocky apart. The first thing his fingers had encountered was the paper containing the specimens of the outcrop at the Lone Pine rock that he had brought away with him. Excellent! here was the very thing; he produced it somewhat mysteriously, and handing it to Rocky, said apologetically to the other man, "One moment by your leave, Doctor, if you please. There's something here I want just to have my old partner look at," and he drew Rocky a little to one side.

"Why, certainly," said the Doctor, turning round and proceeding to climb into the stage; "I'll just see if I can rout out that mail-bag for you before the stage-driver comes."

"I wanted to tell you, Rocky, about my friends at this house where I'm taking you," began Stephens hurriedly, in a low voice; "I don't want you to make any error: there's a girl there that I think--" But his ex-partner, who had already opened the paper, interrupted him with the greatest excitement.

"Why, burn my skin!" he exclaimed, "do you know what you've got hold of here? You've got some of that same ore they've gone crazy over up at Mohawk. Didn't you spot the horn silver in it? If you've got a good lode of this stuff, by thunder, you've got a soft thing! Is it a good vein? If it's three or four foot wide you'll just have the world by the tail."

"That so?" said his friend, "you don't say! I guess I must have stumbled on to that hidden mine of the Indians I've been hunting for, at last. But that'll keep."

Rocky, remembering his old friend's former ardour in prospecting, was amazed at the cool way in which he took the news that he had made this highly valuable strike.

"Look at here, Rocky; the thing I was really aiming to say to you," continued Stephens, his colour rising as he spoke, "was about that young lady,"--at this Rocky's lips curved into a knowing smile and his eyes twinkled;--"don't laugh, old man, I'm dead in earnest over this thing, and I think a heap of her. She's a lady, mind you, right down to the ground."

"Why, to be sure, she must be," cut in Rocky, with portentous seriousness, though his eyes danced with merriment; "she wouldn't be your style no other way. You always was high-toned, Jack; I'll say that for you."

"That's all right," returned Stephens, colouring more furiously than ever; he knew he was blushing, though the experience was entirely strange to him, and he was dreadfully ashamed of not being able to help it. "But indeed I'm not joking, Rocky. Her family's not very rich, but they're kind of way-up people, I want you to understand, old Spanish blood and that sort of thing; not any of the low-down, half-caste Indian stock, you know."

"That so?" said Rocky, keenly; "wal', I'm glad to hear it. I thought Mexicans was all one quality straight through--leastways, all I ever seen were." Rocky's knowledge of the race was limited to the bull-whackers of the big waggon-trains on the freighting roads, and Mexican stock was considerably below par by his estimate.

"That's where you got off wrong," said Stephens eagerly, "for there's a few families here in New Mexico that's just as good as anybody, if it comes to that--Bacas and Armijos and--and Sanchez--" he hesitated a little.

"Say," cut in Rocky, "look at yonder! Who are them ducks a-coming up the road? They 're riding as if all blazes was loose. Some of the First Families of New Mexico, eh?" Rocky was sarcastic. He knew Indians when he saw them.

"By George!" exclaimed Stephens in considerable excitement, "it's those accursed Navajos back here again."

Out of a whirling cloud of red dust and flying horsehoofs emerged the well-known figures of Mahletonkwa, Notalinkwa, and the rest of the gang. They reined up before the shut door of the store, and most of them sprang off their horses.

"They've not gone back to their reservation," said Stephens indignantly. "We'd ought to have had the soldiers here by now, and put them right back. I'm all for doing things by law and order, me, and it's the soldiers' business anyway. But it's getting to be time something was done. It's an infamous shame they should be allowed to fly around like this and bulldoze everybody; and, what's more, I'm getting tired of it."

The Indians were talking and laughing in a loud, excited manner, and Mahletonkwa began to pound on the closed door of the store with his fist.

"That's a sockdologer," said Rocky, "him knocking at the door I mean, with the eagle-feathers in his head-dress." Mahletonkwa was a big man physically; his stature would have been remarkable even in a crowd of Western men, perhaps the tallest men, on an average, of any on the face of the globe. "Say, do you mean to tell me that these are wild Indians, and you leave 'em around here loose?"

"They're worse than wild Indians just now," said Stephens, whose eyes were beginning to glow like hot coals; "they're Indians with liquor enough in them to make 'em crazy for more, and ready for any devilment."

"Say, Mahletonkwa," he called out, raising his voice and advancing a step, "quit that hammering, will you! There's trouble in the house, and you mustn't disturb them."

The Indian took no more notice of him than a striking clock might have done, but went on pounding with loud, continuous blows on the resounding wood.

"Stop it, will you!" cried Stephens, springing forward; "don't you hear me? There's a dead man in there, I tell you, and a poor woman mourning."

"I want more whiskey," said Mahletonkwa excitedly, and he beat the door with both hands.

The next moment Stephens had him by the shoulders and whirled him around, and with a push sent him staggering half a dozen yards from the house.

The Indian recovered himself, wheeled sharp round, and with a yell of rage drew his knife and bounded upon Stephens. He, too, drew his to defend himself, but as he did so Rocky sprang between them, pulling his Derringer. Alas! the Indian's knife was quicker than the pistol; he grappled Rocky instead of Stephens, and stabbed him in the breast. Down went Rocky with a crash upon the ground, the pistol dropping unfired from his nerveless fingers, and the blood poured from his mouth.