In the cool water, Bob soon forgot his hurts. Coming out on the shore he took stock of the damage that had been done. His hands were sore and stinging sensations from different parts of his body told him that he had not come off scot-free. Such clothes as he had on were ruined and he knew that in all probability he was such a sight that his own father would not have recognized him if they had met face to face.  
Assured that he had suffered no damage that was really serious, Bob gave some thought to other pressing matters. Since no one had appeared after he had broken out of the hut, he must have been right when he figured that Harper had had no intention of sticking around all night.
 
But because no one was around now, it did not mean that no one would be. Probably the best plan would be to go and go quickly before either Wesley or Harper to come down and bring their captive food and water.
 
“Some surprise those chaps will get!” laughed Bob to himself as he started down the river in the general direction of the dam. “I wonder what they’ll do. Hit the high spots probably getting away from this neck of the woods!”
 
It took longer to get back to camp than he had supposed, for he was afraid to leave the river which served as his guide. Therefore it was nearly noon when a bend of the river showed him the dam.
 
Fearing that his appearance would cause a sensation, Bob and then swam across the shallow river and struck off to one side, meaning to circle around to the upper camp. Then he could slip into the Quarter-house by the back way.
 
This was executed without and the only person who saw him go in was the Mexican cook, who paid little attention.
 
“I guess he thinks the Gringo got mixed up with a charge of !” was the boy’s reflection as he up to his room.
 
It was not long before he presented himself, washed and changed, at the general offices. As he went in he asked the girl at the telephone if Mr. Whitney had returned.
 
“Not yet,” was the crisp reply, “but Mr. Taylor wants to see you. Jerry King didn’t show up to-day either and he’s worried.”
 
So Jerry had not come back. It did not surprise Bob much, but it meant that Jerry had now openly himself with the other . The fight was to be in the open, from now on. Coming back to himself, he asked: “Where’s Mr. Taylor then?”
 
“In his office.”
 
He found Mr. Taylor busy over some blue prints. The engineer looked up as he entered and Bob at once saw that the man was angry. His first question proved it.
 
“What the dickens do you mean by not reporting this morning? Just because Mr. Whitney is away, do you think you can take a vacation when you feel like it? And King, too; wait till I get hold of him! But what have you got to say for yourself, young man?”
 
“I couldn’t help it—”
 
“Couldn’t help it!” exploded the man. The total responsibility for the project had fallen on him for the past few days and it had made him nervous. “Of course you could help it. You’ve got to help it if you belong to the Service!”
 
Bob waited until the storm had passed and then asked calmly:
 
“Has the Chief told you he suspects trouble with the Mexicans?”
 
The man looked at the boy sharply but made no reply. From his manner Bob was sure that Mr. Taylor knew but did not wish to confess his knowledge. Figuring that his silence was equal to an , Bob went on:
 
“Mr. Whitney told me something about it and the reason I’m late to-day is that I got mixed up in the mess—”
 
This startled Mr. Taylor.
 
“You—you’ve found out something?” he eagerly.
 
“Yes,” answered Bob, “I have. I wanted to tell Mr. Whitney personally about it but as things are likely to happen right off, I think we’d better get busy without him.”
 
Rapidly Bob out what he had learned during the past few days and related the adventure that had befallen him the day before. As to Jerry’s part in the mix-up, he said as little as possible, but of course it could not be hushed up. As Bob was talking, Mr. Taylor took the telephone receiver off the hook and called a number.
 
By the time his story was finished, a knock sounded on the door and it opened to let in Jenkins, the camp marshal.
 
“I just telephoned the marshal to come up as we were talking,” explained Mr. Taylor. “I want him to get those two cowboys if he can.”
 
“Won’t be much chance,” put in Bob, “if they’ve been to the hut. But if they were going to leave me there without food or water, perhaps you can get ’em.”
 
The engineer stated the case briefly so that the officer would understand.
 
“I’ll try to git ’em,” announced Jenkins. “I guess I better git the sheriff down to Las Cruces to call out a posse—”
 
“No, don’t do that,” put in Taylor. “This is a Federal job and we don’t want the county in on it. Go to it alone.”
 
the man took his orders and out. When he was gone Mr. Whitney’s assistant turned to Bob.
 
“What do you think will be the first move? Did you hear anything definite?”
 
“No, sir, and I haven’t any idea what they’ll do. Anything is likely to happen!”
 
“Then the only thing to do is to put on extra watchmen and keep a sharp for trouble among the Mexicans. I’ll see to it at once.” He started up as if to go out. Then, remembering Bob, he said, “You’ve done good work, Hazard. Sorry I was so grumpy when you came in. Take the remainder of the day off and rest up.”
 
“Thank you, sir,” the boy answered, “but I couldn’t sleep now. There’s too much excitement around!”
 
With this they left the office, Taylor to see that all preparations were made to any attack, and Bob to take up the work Mr. Whitney had left for him to do.
 
[218]The day and night passed quietly, but the next morning the mess room of the Quarter-house was in a . News had come in that a gang of Mexican bandits had made a raid on Columbus, and wounding many Americans. This report was unconfirmed but flew thick and fast. Some had it that it was the army of Carranza and others that it was merely an unorganized deed of a rash bandit. Most of the men thought it was .
 
When Bob heard the news he immediately connected Mr. Whitney’s prolonged absence with it. The Chief was not back and in all probability he had remained to talk over the best manner of protecting Government property from any mishap. The raid was so daring that it showed the possibility that others might follow and the dam was near enough the border to be in actual danger. Bob realized that in all probability this was just what the cattlemen wanted; that it might mean . Especially so if more took place at once.
 
All during the day he worked with a cloud of hanging over him. But nothing stirred. The Mexicans at the noon hour broke up into groups and talked excitedly, but as far as Bob could see they did their work without any with their bosses, and under Mr. Taylor’s generalship the whole job moved .
 
But there was something wrong in the air. The very calm itself seemed unhealthy, and Bob was glad when nighttime came. He noticed that Mr. Taylor had again put on the extra force of watchmen, as he had planned, all of whom were Americans. This had been done quietly and passed without comment from the Mexicans.
 
However, just before the quitting whistle blew, Bob happened to be near the spot where the Indians were . He took this opportunity to go up to Feather-in-the-Wind who was directing his men. Ostensibly he asked something regarding the work but it was only to give the Indian a chance to convey any message he might have. The Apache did have something to say.
 
“Meet Feather-in-the-Wind by rock crusher to-night,” he whispered swiftly, but cautiously.
 
It was sufficient. Bob walked off unconcernedly but as soon as dark had fallen he went to the appointed place. He had not been there long when the Indian up to him.
 
“Have you learned anything?” asked Bob quickly.
 
“Yes; Greasers much excited. One man make bad medicine. He Miguel. They plan big strike—no more work. To-day came news much killing on border. Miguel tell ’em Gringo all scared. They keep quiet, then capture dam.”
 
“Are they going to do what he says?” put in Bob in a tense whisper.
 
“Yes, Miguel very much strong. Greasers but do what he say.”
 
But when Bob started to thank Feather-in-the-Wind for finding out what he had, the Apache stopped him. “Wait! More!” he said. “One my young men got keen eyes. Not dimmed by white man’s whiskey. He see Miguel go away from camp one, two, t’ree nights. He take something with him. Young man no follow. No worry him much. Perhaps go to-night. You want us follow?”
“You’re whistling,” said Bob shortly.
 
Probably Feather-in-the-Wind did not understand the slang but he got what Bob meant, for he said, “Come!” and started off in the direction of the lower camp. He did not go through the village but cut up on the hillside, walking swiftly as if he knew where he was bound. Bob followed.
 
A few minutes later a slim shadow rose out of the chaparral. Feather-in-the-Wind in his own language to this newcomer. Evidently this was the brave who had kept note of Miguel’s comings and goings. The conference over, Bob’s friend uttered the one word, “Wait!” and sat down. The other Indian slipped away. Bob followed the example of Feather-in-the-Wind.
 
From where they were sitting, screened by the undergrowth, they could see a section of a rough path that led up the hillside. For a long time nothing happened. As the Indian did not speak, Bob felt it best to remain quiet also. Probably there w............