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 THE LONE RMCHE. 
 
 % ®alt irf % 'Stalieir fiajn. 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPTAIN MAYNE KEID, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN.' 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADLLLY. 
 
 1871. 
 
 [^All rights reserved.}
 
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 lokdon: 
 bobsok akd so>'s, petstebs, panckas koid, n.w.
 
 ?Sl3 
 (Roller 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL, I. 
 
 :\ 
 
 CHAP 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 A Street Spectacle 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 A Friend ix Xeed . . . . 
 
 12 
 
 III. 
 
 The Coloxel-Commandaxte . 
 
 . 21 
 
 ~IV. 
 
 Surrounded 
 
 32 
 
 V. 
 
 Knife, Pistol, and Hatchet . 
 
 48 
 
 VI. 
 
 Through the Smoke 
 
 58 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Pursuers at Bay . 
 
 68 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In Darkness .... 
 
 79 
 
 IX. 
 
 A Savage Saturnal 
 
 9Z 
 
 X. 
 
 A living Tomb .... 
 
 lOI 
 
 XI. 
 
 Off at last ..... 
 
 112 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Departure of the Plunderers 
 
 . 119 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A strange Transformation . 
 
 . 128 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Staked Plain . . . 
 
 140 
 
 XV. 
 
 Into the Desert .... 
 
 149 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A LiLLiPUTL\N Forest . 
 
 . 158 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Struggling among the Sages 
 
 . 168 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A Huntress 
 
 . 177
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAT. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XIX. 
 
 * Down, Dogs !' . . . 
 
 . 187 
 
 XX. 
 
 An Oasis 
 
 . 197 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A Comrade ' gone under' 
 
 . 204 
 
 XXII. 
 
 A SWEET Awakening . 
 
 . 215 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Don Valerian . . . , 
 
 . 224 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The Eefugees . . . . 
 
 . 232 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The intercepted Letter 
 
 .247 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Eeturning from a Eaid 
 
 • 255 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A Coup .... 
 
 . . 265 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The forced Confession 
 
 . 272
 
 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 A STREET SPECTACLE. 
 
 In the city of Chiliualiua, metropolis of the north- 
 ern provinces of Mexico — for the most part huilt 
 of mud — standing in the midst of vast treeless 
 plains, o'ertopped by bold porphyritic mountains — 
 plains with a population sparse as their timber — 
 in the old city of Chihuahua, lies the first scene 
 of our story. 
 
 Less than twenty thousand souls dwell within 
 the walls of this North-Mexican metropolis, and in 
 the country surrounding it a like limited number. 
 
 Once they were thicker on the soil; but tho 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 THE LOXE RANG HE. 
 
 tomahawk of the Comanche, and the spear of the 
 Apache, have thinned off the descendants of the 
 conquistadores , until country houses stand at 
 wide distances apart, with more than an equal 
 numher of ruins between. 
 
 Yet this old town of Chihuahua challenges 
 weird and wonderful memories. At the mention 
 of its name springs up a host of strange records, 
 the souvenirs of a frontier-life altogether different 
 from that wreathed round the histoiy of the xlnglo- 
 American borderland. It recalls the monk with 
 his cross, and the soldier close following with his 
 sword; the old mission-house, with its church and 
 a presidio beside it; the fierce savage lured from 
 a roving life, and turned into a toiling ^;eo?i; after- 
 ward to revolt against a system of slavery that 
 even religion failed to make endurable; the neo- 
 phyte turning his hand against his cowled teacher, 
 equally his oppressor; revolt followed by a flow of 
 red blood, with ruinous devastation, until the old 
 walls of both mission and presidio are left tenant- 
 less, and the redskin has returned to his roving. 
 
 Such a history has had the town of Chihuahua,
 
 A STREET SPECTACLE. 
 
 and the settlements in its neiglibourliood. Nor is 
 the latter portion of it all a record of the olden 
 time. Much of it belongs to modern days, and 
 similar scenes are transpiring even now. But a 
 few years ago, a stranger entering its gates would 
 have seen nailed overhead, and whisked to and fro 
 by the wind, some scores of objects similar to one 
 another, and resembling tufts or tresses of hair. 
 This was long, trailing, and black, as if taken from 
 the manes or tails of horses. But it came not 
 thence: it was human hair, and the patches of 
 skin that served to keep the bunches together had 
 been stripped from human skulls. They were 
 scalps — the scalps of Indians; showing that the 
 Comanches and Apaches had not had it all their 
 own way. 
 
 Beside them could be seen other clavated ob- 
 jects of auricle shape, set in rows or circles like a 
 festooning of capsicums strung up for desiccation. 
 No doubt they had drawn tears from the eyes of 
 those whose heads had furnished them, for they 
 were human ears ! 
 
 These ghastly souvenirs were the bounty war-
 
 THE LOXE RANCHE. 
 
 rants of a band whose deeds have been already 
 chronicled by this pen. They were the trophies 
 of the ' Scalp-Hunters' ! 
 
 They were there less than a quarter of a cen- 
 tury ago, waving in the dry Tsind that sweeps over 
 the plains of Chihuahua. For aught the writer 
 knows, tliey may be there still ; or if not the same, 
 others replacing or supplementing them, of like 
 gory record. 
 
 It is not with the ' Scalp-Hunters' we have 
 now to do — only with the city of Chihuahua. And 
 not much with it either. A single scene occurring 
 in its streets is all of Chihuahuense life to be 
 depicted in this tale. 
 
 It was the spectacle of a religious procession — . 
 a thing far from uncommon in Chihuahua, or any 
 other Mexican town ; so common indeed, that at 
 least weekly the like may be witnessed. This was 
 one of the grandest — representing the story of the 
 Crucifixion. Citizens of all classes assisted at the 
 ceremony, the soldiery also taking part in it. The 
 padres of course, both secular and regular, were 
 its chief supports and propagators. To them it
 
 A STREET SPECTACLE. 
 
 brought bread, and if not butter — since there is 
 none in Chihuahua — it added to their incomes and 
 influence. There were the usual characters in 
 disguise : an image of the Redeemer conducted 
 to the place of the Passion ; the cross borne on the 
 shoulders of a brawny brown-skinned Simon ; Pi- 
 late the oppressor, Judas the betrayer — in short, 
 every prominent personage spoken of in Holy Writ 
 as having been present on that occasion when the 
 Son of Man suffered for our sins. 
 
 There is, or was then, an American hotel in 
 Chihuahua, or at least one approaching the Ameri- 
 can fashion. It was only a mere posada. Among 
 its guests was a stranger, alike to the town as the 
 country. His dress, figure, and facial appearance 
 bespoke him an American, and by the same tokens 
 it could be told that he belonged to the Southern 
 States — at all events those that lie west of the 
 Alleghanies. He was in truth a Kentuckian; but 
 so far from representing the type, rough and stal- 
 wart, usually associated with the idea of ' Old 
 Kaintuck,' he was a man of fair medium size, with 
 a build comparable to that of the Belvidere Apollo.
 
 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 His was a figure tersely set, with limbs well knitted ; 
 a handsome face and features of amiable cast, at 
 the same time expressing confidence and courage. 
 A costly Guayaquil hat upon his head, and coat to 
 correspond, bespoke him respectable; 'lis tout- 
 ensemhle proclaimed him a man of leisure — his air 
 and bearing were unmistakable : they could only 
 belong to a gentleman. 
 
 Why he was in Chihuahua, or whence he had 
 come to it, no one seemed to know or inquire. 
 Enough that he was there, and gazing at the 
 spectacular procession as it filed past the posada. 
 
 He was regarding it with no eye of wonder- 
 ment. In all likelihood he had seen such before. 
 He could not have travelled far through Mexico 
 without witnessing some ceremony of a similar 
 kind. 
 
 Whether interested in this one or no, he was 
 soon notified that he was not regarding it in the 
 manner proper or customary to the country. 
 Standing half behind one of the 'portales of the 
 posada, he had not thought it necessary to take 
 ofi" his hat. Perhaps placed in a more conspi-
 
 A STREET SPECTACLE. 
 
 cuous position, he would have done this. He 
 was not the sort of man to seek notoriety by an 
 exhibition of bravado ; and though a Protestant of 
 a most liberal creed, he would have shrunk from 
 offendiro- the slightest sensibilities of any one be- 
 longing to an opposite faith — even the most bigoted 
 Catholic of that bigoted land. That his ' guayaquil' 
 still remained upon his head arose, at first, from 
 simple forgetfulness that it was there. Standing 
 inside the portico, and particularly screened by 
 one of the pillars, it had not occurred to him to 
 uncover. 
 
 He now saw scowling looks, and heard low 
 growlings from the crowd as it swayed slowly past. 
 He knew enough to be conscious of what these 
 meant; but he felt at the same time disinclined 
 to humiliate himself b}' a too facile compliance. 
 A proud American, in the . midst of a people he 
 had long ago learnt to despise — their idolatrous 
 observances along with them — no wonder he should 
 feel a little defiant and a good deal exasperated. 
 Enough yielding, he thought, to withdraw farther 
 back behind the pillar — which he did.
 
 THE LONE RAXCHE. 
 
 It was too late. The keen eye of a fanatic had 
 been upon him — one who appeared to have authority 
 for meting out chastisement. An officer, bearded 
 and grandly bedizened, riding at the head of a troop 
 of lancers, quickly wrenched his horse from the 
 line of march, and spurred him towards the porch 
 of the posada. In another instant his bared blade 
 was waving over the hatted head of the Ken- 
 tuckian. 
 
 'Gringo! alto el somhrero! Ahajo ! a sus ro- 
 dillas." (Off with your hat, greenhorn! Down upon 
 your knees !) were the words that came hissing 
 from between the moustached lips of the lancer. 
 
 As they failed to bring compliance, they were 
 instantly followed by a blow from the blade of the 
 sabre. It was struck sideways, but with sufficient 
 sleight and force to send the Panama hat whirling 
 to the pavement, and its wearer reehng against 
 the waU. 
 
 It was but the stagger of a sudden and little- 
 expected surprise. In another instant the * gringo' 
 had drawn a revolving pistol, and in yet another 
 its bullet would have been through the brain of
 
 ■I STREET SPECTACLE. 
 
 the swaggering aggressor, when a man, rushing 
 from behind, laid hold of the Kentuckian's arm 
 and restrained him from firing. 
 
 At first he thought it was the act of a second 
 enemy; hut in a moment he knew it to he the be- 
 haviour of a friend — at least a pacificator resolved 
 upon seeing fair play. 
 
 * You are wrong, Captain Uraga,' interposed 
 he who had intermeddled, addressing himself to 
 the lancer. * This gentleman is a stranger in the 
 country, and not acquainted with our customs.' 
 
 *A heretic, then. It is time he should be 
 taught them, and at the same time respect for the 
 true Church. What right. Colonel Miranda, have 
 you to interfere '?' 
 
 * The right, first of humanity, second of hos- 
 pitality, and third that I am your superior 
 officer.' 
 
 * Bah ! You mistake yourself. Remember, 
 senor, you are not in your own district. If it was 
 in New Mexico, I might take commands from you. 
 This is Chihuahua.' 
 
 ' Chihuahua or not, you shall be made answer-
 
 10 THE LOXE RANG HE. 
 
 able for this outrage. Don't imagine, cavallero, 
 that your patron, Santa Anna, is now President of 
 the Republic, Tvith power to indorse such conduct 
 as yours. You seem to forget, Captain Uraga, 
 that you carry your commission under a new regime 
 — one that holds itself responsible not only to fixed 
 laws, but to the code of decency — responsible also 
 for international courtesy to the great Republic 
 of which, I believe, this gentleman is a citizen.' 
 
 ^Bah !' once more exclaimed the bedizened bully. 
 ' Preach your palabras to ears that have time to 
 Usten to them. I sha'n't stop the procession for 
 either you or your Yankee protege. So you can 
 both go to the devil.' 
 
 With this benevolent permission the captain 
 of lancers struck the spurs into his horse, and 
 once more placed himself at the head of his troop. 
 
 The crowd collected by this unpleasant episode 
 soon scattered away — the sooner that the strange 
 gentleman, along with his generous defender, at 
 once disappeared from the portico by going inside 
 the inn. 
 
 The procession was still passing, and its irre-
 
 A STREET SPECTACLE. Ii 
 
 sistible attractions swept the loiterers along in its 
 current — most of them soon forgetting a scene 
 that in a land where ' law secures not life' is of 
 too common occurrence to be long thought of 
 or specially remembered.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 The young Kentuckiau was half-frenzied by tlie 
 insult. The proud blood of his republican citizen- 
 ship was boiling mthin his veins. What was he 
 to do? 
 
 In the agony of his dilemma, he put the ques- 
 tion to the gentleman, who had no doubt restrained 
 him from committing manslaughter. 
 
 The latter was an entu-e stranger to him — 
 never seen before. He was a man of less than 
 thirty years of age, wearing a broad-brimmed hat 
 upon his head, a jacket, slashed calzoneros, and 
 red crape scarf — in short, the ranchero costume of 
 the country. Still there was a military bearing 
 about him, that corresponded to the title by which 
 the lancer officer had addressed him.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 13 
 
 * Cavallero,' he said in reply, ' if your own 
 safety be of any consequence to you, I should 
 advise you to take no farther notice of the inci- 
 dent that has arisen.' 
 
 ' Pardon me, senor ; hut not for all the world 
 would I follow your advice — not for my life. I 
 am an American — a Kentuckian. We do not take 
 blows without giving something in return. I 
 must seek redress.' 
 
 * If you seek it by the law, I may as well tell 
 you, that here you won't have much chance of 
 finding it.' 
 
 ' I know that. The lav/ ! I did not think of 
 such a thing. I am a gentleman ; I suppose this 
 Captain Uraga pretends to be the same. He can- 
 not refuse to give me the usual satisfaction.' 
 
 ' He may ; and very likely would, on the plea of 
 your being a stranger — onh' a barbarian, a Tejano, 
 as he would put it.' 
 
 * Alone — a stranger — what am I to do ?' 
 *Well, cavallero, if you are determined on a 
 
 desqfio, I think I might arrange it. I feel that I 
 am myself a little compromised by my interference ;
 
 14 
 
 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 and if you will accept of a stranger for your 
 second, I think I can answer for it that he will 
 not refuse me.' 
 
 ' Colonel Miranda — your name, I believe — need 
 I attempt to express my thanks for so much gene- 
 rosity? I cannot — I could not. You have re- 
 moved the very difficulty that was troubling me ; 
 for I am not only a stranger to you, but to every 
 one around me. I arrived in Chihuahua but 
 yesterday, and do not know a soul in the place.' 
 
 ' Enough ; you shall not be disappointed in 
 your duel for the want of a friend. As a prelimi- 
 nary, may I ask, if you have skill in the use of the 
 sword ?' 
 
 ' Sufficient to risk my life upon it.' 
 
 * I put the question, because that is the weapon 
 your adversary will be certain to choose. You 
 being the challenger, of course he has the choice ; 
 and he will insist upon it, for a reason that may 
 perhaps amuse you. It is, that we Mexican gen- 
 tlemen believe you Americans somewhat gauche 
 in the handling of the rapier, though we know you 
 to be adepts in the use of the pistol. I know
 
 A FRIEND IN XEED. 15 
 
 Captain Gil Uraga to be as thorough a poltroon 
 as ever wore epaulettes, but he will have to meet 
 you on my account ; and he would perhaps have 
 done so anyhow — trusting to the probability of 
 your not being a skilled swordsman.' 
 
 'In that, Colonel Miranda, he may perhaps 
 find himself disappointed.' 
 
 * I am glad to hear it ; and now it only needs 
 
 to receive your directions. I am ready to act.' 
 * * * * 
 
 The directions were given; and within two 
 hours' time, Captain Gil Uraga of the Zacatecas 
 Lancers was in receipt of a challenge from the 
 young American — Frank Hamersley by name — 
 Colonel Miranda being its bearer. 
 
 With such a voucher the lancer captain could 
 not do otherwise than accept ; which he did with 
 the more confidence for the very reason Miranda 
 had made known. A ' Tejano,' was his reflection; 
 what should he know of the sword ? 
 
 And swords were the weapons chosen. 
 
 Had the Captain of Mexican Lancers been told 
 that his Kentuckian adversary had spent a portion
 
 i6 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 of his life among the Creoles of New Orleans, he 
 would have had less trust in the chances likely to 
 favour him. They did not favour him at all. 
 
 We need not describe the duel, which, if it 
 differed from other encounters of like kind, it 
 was by being on both sides bitter, and of deadly 
 intent. Suffice it to say, that the young Ken- 
 tuckian displayed a skill in swordsmanship suffi- 
 cient to disarrange several of Gil Uraga's front 
 teeth, and make an ugly gash in his cheek. The 
 lancer captain had left just enough command over 
 his mouth to enable him to cry * Basta !' and the 
 
 affair was over. 
 
 ****** 
 
 ' Seuor Hamersley,' said the gentleman who 
 had so effectively befriended him, after they had 
 returned from the encounter, and were drinking a 
 bottle of best 'Paso wine in the posada, ' may I 
 ask where you are going from this j)lace ?' 
 
 *I intend going north — to Santa Fe in New 
 Mexico ; thence to the United States, along with 
 one of the return caravans.' 
 
 ' When do you purpose starting ?'
 
 A FRIEXD IX NEED. 1 7 
 
 * As to that, I am not tied to time. The party 
 with whom I am to cross the plains will not be 
 leaving Santa Fe for six months to come. I can 
 get there by a month's travel, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' Less than that. It is not a question of how 
 soon you can get there, but when you may leave 
 here. I advise you to start at once. I admit that 
 two days is but a short time to see the sights of 
 even so small a place as Chihuahua. But you 
 have seen some of them ; enough, I should say. 
 If you take my advice, cavallero, you will let it 
 content you, and kick the Chihuahua dust from 
 your feet before another twenty-four hours passes 
 over your head.' 
 
 ' But why, Colonel Miranda ?' 
 
 ' Because as long as you remain here you will 
 be in danger of losing your life. You don't knovv^ 
 the character of the man with whom you have 
 crossed swords. I do. Although wearing the 
 uniform of an officer in our army, he is simply 
 a cut-throat and a robber. A coward, as I told 
 you, too. He would never have met you, if he 
 had thought I would have given him a chance 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 l8 THE LOXE RAXCHE. 
 
 to get out of it. Perhaps he might have been 
 tempted by the hopes of an easy conquest from 
 your supposed want of skill. It would have given 
 him something to boast about among the dames 
 of Chihuahua ; for Captain Gil deems himself no 
 little of a lady-killer. You have spoilt his physi- 
 ognomy for life ; and depend upon it, as long as 
 life lasts he will not be the man to forgive you. I 
 have also come in for a share of his spite ; and it 
 behoves both of us to beware of him.' 
 ' But what could he do ?' 
 
 • Cavallero, that question shows you have not 
 been very long in this country, and are yet ignor- 
 ant of our customs. In Mexico we have some 
 trades and callings not much known in your coun- 
 try. Know that poniards can here be purchased 
 by the score, and the arms of assassins to use 
 them. Do you understand me '?' 
 
 ^ I do. But how do you counsel me to act ?' 
 
 * As I intend doing myself — leave Chihuahua 
 this very day. Our roads are the same as far as 
 Albuquerque, when you will be out of reach of 
 this little danger. I am returning thither from
 
 A FRIEXD IX XEED. 19 
 
 the city of Mexico, where I've had business with 
 the government. I have an escort ; and if you 
 choose to avail yourself of it, you are welcome to 
 its protection.' 
 
 ' Colonel Miranda, I say again, I know not how 
 to thank you.' 
 
 'Keserve your thanks till I have done you 
 some service, beyond the simple duty of a gentle- 
 man, who sees another gentleman and a stranger 
 in difficulties he had no hand in creating. But 
 enough, senor. We have no time to spend in 
 talking. Even now there may be a dagger pre- 
 paring for you. Get your things ready at once, as 
 I start two hours before sunset. In this warm 
 season of the year we do our best jom-neys in the 
 cool of the evening.* 
 
 'I shall be ready.' 
 
 That same afternoon, two hours before the 
 going down of the sun, a party of horsemen, 
 wearing the uniform of Mexican dragoons of the 
 line, issued from the garlta of Chihuahua, and 
 took the northern road leading to Santa Fe, by 
 El Paso del Norte. Colonel Miranda, his ran-
 
 20 
 
 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 chero dress changed for the fatigue uniform of a 
 cavahy officer, rode at their head; and by his 
 side the young American he had so generously 
 and gallantly befriended.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COLONEL- CO:\DIAXDANTE. 
 
 Six weeks have elapsed since the day of the duel 
 at Chihuahua. Two men are standing on the 
 azotea of a large and massive dwelling-house 
 close to the town of Albuquerque, whose church- 
 towers are just yisible through the foliage of trees 
 that shade and surround the dwelling. They are 
 Colonel Miranda and his Kentuckian protege. 
 
 The hospitality of the generous Mexican 
 had not terminated with the journey from Chi- 
 huahua. After three weeks of toilsome travel, 
 including the traverse of the famed ' Dead Man's 
 Journey,' he was continuing to extend it in his 
 own house and his own district, of which last 
 he was military commandante. Albuquerque was 
 at the time occupied by a considerable body of
 
 THE LOXE RANCHE. 
 
 troops, stationed there for (defence against Indian 
 incursions. 
 
 The house on which the two men stood was 
 that in which Colonel Miranda had been born — the 
 patrimonial mansion of a large estate that extended 
 along the Eio del Norti, and back towards the 
 Sierra Blanca mountains into territories unknown. 
 
 Besides being an officer in the Mexican army, 
 Colonel Miranda was one of the r'lcos of the coun- 
 try. The house, as we have said, was a large 
 massive mansion, haying, like all Mexican dwell- 
 ings of its class, a terraced roof or azotea. What 
 is also common enough in that country, it was 
 surmounted by a iniradGr or ' belvidere.' Stand- 
 ing less than half a mile distant from the soldier's 
 cuartel, the commandant found it conyenient to 
 make use of it as his head-quarters. A small 
 guard in the saguan or covered gate-entrance be- 
 low, and a sentry pacing in front, indicated this. 
 
 There was no family inside, wife, woman, or 
 child; for the colonel, still a young man, was a 
 bachelor. Only peons in the field, grooms and 
 other servants around the stables, with domestics
 
 THE COLONEL-COMMANDANTE. * 23 
 
 in the dwelling — all, male and female, being In- 
 dians of the race known as ' Pueblos' or ' mansos' 
 — brown-skinned and obedient. 
 
 But there was no living lady to make her soft 
 footsteps heard within the halls of Colonel Mi- 
 randa's mansion. There was the portrait of a 
 lovely girl, that hung against the wall of the main 
 sala, upon which his American guest had more 
 than once gazed in silent admiration. It showed 
 signs of having been recently painted ; which was 
 not strange, since it was the likeness of Colonel 
 Miranda's sister, some years younger than him- 
 self, scarce yet a woman — at the time on a visit to 
 some relatives in a distant city of the republic. 
 
 The host and his guest upon the housetop 
 were leisuring away the time in the indulgence of 
 a cigar, watching the water-fowl that swam and 
 plunged in the waters of the broad shallow stream 
 — listening to the hoarse croakings of the pelicans 
 and the shriller screams of the gniya cranes. It 
 was the hour of evening, when the bu'ds become 
 especially stridulent. 
 
 * And so you must go to-morrow, Senor Don
 
 24 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Francisco?' said liis host, taldng the cigarito 
 from between his teeth, and looking inquiringly 
 into the face of the American. 
 
 ^ There is no help for it, colonel. The prairie 
 merchants with whom I came out will be leaving 
 Santa Fe the day after to-morrow. There will be 
 just time for me to get there. Unless along with 
 them, there may be no opportunity for months to 
 come, and one cannot cross the plains alone.' 
 
 * Well, I suppose I must lose you. I am sorry. 
 I am somewhat lonely here. There's not one of 
 my officers, with the exception of our old medico, 
 exactly of the sort to be companionable. True, I 
 have enough occupations, as you may have by this 
 time discovered, in looking after our neighbours 
 the Indios hravos, who, knowing the skeleton of a 
 regiment I've got,, are growing saucier every day. 
 I only wish I had a score or two of your stalwart 
 trappers, who now and then show themselves in 
 our settlements. Well, my sister will soon be 
 here, and she, brave girl, has plenty of life in her, 
 though she is but young. What a romping crea- 
 ture she is ; wild as a mustang filly fresh caught.
 
 THE COLONEL-COMMANDANTE. 25 
 
 I wish, Don Francisco, you could have seen Adela. 
 I am sure you would be delighted with her.' 
 
 If the portrait on the wall was anything of a 
 faithful likeness, Hamersley could not have been 
 otherwise than delighted with her. This was his 
 reflection, though he did not in speech declare it. 
 
 ^ It is to be hoped we shall meet again. Colonel 
 Miranda,' was his simple rejoinder. ' If I did not 
 have this hope, I should now be parting from you 
 with greater regret. Indeed I have more than a 
 presentiment we shall meet again ; for I have as 
 good as made up my mind to a certain thing.' 
 
 ' To what, Don Francisco ?' 
 
 * To return to New Mexico.' 
 
 * And settle in the country *?' 
 
 'Not exactly that; only for a time — long 
 enough to enable me to dispose of a cargo of mer- 
 chandise in exchange for a bag of your Mexican 
 dohlanes.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you intend to become one of the prairie 
 merchants, then ?' 
 
 ' I do. That intention has been the cause' of 
 my present visit to your country. I am old enough
 
 26 THE LOXE RAXCHE. 
 
 to think of some calling. I have always had a 
 fancy for this adventurous life of the prairie traders ; 
 and as I have sufficient means to stock a small 
 caravan for myself, I think now of trying it. My 
 present trip has been one of experiment and ex- 
 ploration. I am satisfied with the result; and 
 if no accident arise, you may see me on the Del 
 Norte before either of us be twelve months older.' 
 * Then indeed is there a hope of our meeting 
 again. I am rejoiced at it. But, Senor Don 
 Francisco,' continued his host, changing to a seri- 
 ous tone, ' a word, lest I might forget it — a word 
 of counsel, or warning I may call it. You are too 
 unsuspicious, too regardless of danger. It does not 
 all lie upon the prairies, or among the red-skinned 
 savages. There is as much of it here, amid the 
 abodes of our so-called civilisation. When you are 
 travelling through this country, keep your late 
 antagonist in mind; and should you at any time 
 meet, beware of him. I have given you some 
 hints about the character of Gil Uraga. I have 
 not told you all. He is worse than you can ever 
 imagine. I know him well. Do you see that
 
 THE COLONEL-COMMANDANTE. 27 
 
 rancho standing out among the suburbs — a niere 
 hovel it is ?' 
 
 Hamersley nodded assent. 
 
 * He was born there. His father was what we 
 here call a lepero ; himself the same. He has left 
 in his native place a record of crimes well known, 
 with others still worse that we more than sus- 
 pected. In short, he is, as I have told you, a 
 robber. No doubt you wonder that such a man 
 should be a captain of lancers. That is because 
 you are ignorant of the state of our army — our 
 society as well. It is but the result of constantly 
 recurring changes in our political system. StiU 
 you may feel surprise at his holding this commis- 
 sion with the patriotic party — the pure one — in 
 power, as it now is. That might be inexplicable 
 even to myself, for I know that he will be traitor to 
 our cause when convenient to him. But I know 
 the explanation. There is a power, even when the 
 party exercising it is not in the ascendant — an 
 influence that works by sap and secrecy. It is that 
 of our hierarchy. Gil Uraga is one of its tools — 
 since it exactly suits his low instincts and treach-
 
 28 THE LONE RAXCHE. 
 
 erous training. Whenever the day is ripe for a 
 fresh 2^1'onunciamiento against our liberties, if we 
 are so unfortunate as to have one, he will be 
 among the foremost of the traitors. Carrai! I 
 can think of him only with disgust and loathing. 
 Would you believe it, senor, that this fellow, now 
 that epaulettes have been set on his shoulders 
 — placed there for some vile service — has had the 
 audacity to aspire to the hand of my sister ? Adela 
 Miranda standing in bridal robes by the side of 
 Gil Uraga ! I would rather see her in her shroud ! ' 
 
 Hamersley's bosom swelled up under the ex- 
 citing words. The young American felt an emotion 
 almost equal to that of his host. He thought of 
 the sweet face, that must be the original of that 
 portrait of beautiful and innocent expression. He 
 thought of the ruffian whose blow he had felt, and 
 whose blood he had drawn. He thought of the 
 wolf and the lamb. 
 
 ' But surely, Colonel Miranda,' he said at 
 length, ' there could be no danger of such an 
 event as that ?' 
 
 * Never, so long as I live. But, senor, as you
 
 THE COLOXEL-COMMANDANTE. 29 
 
 have learnt, this is a strauge land — a country of 
 quick changes. I am here to-day, commanding in 
 this district, with power, I may almost say, over 
 the lives of all around me. To-morrow I may be 
 a fugitive, or dead. If the latter, where is she, 
 my poor sister, to find the hand that could or 
 would protect her *?' 
 
 Again the breast of Hamersley heaved in a con- 
 vulsive manner. Strange as it might appear, the 
 words of his late friend seemed like an appeal to 
 him. And it is just possible some such thought 
 was flitting through the brain of the Mexican 
 colonel. In the strong man by his side he saw 
 the type of a race who can protect. It may have 
 been in his mind that the young Kentuckian was 
 just such an oak as he would wish to see his sister 
 extend her arms, tendril-like, around, and cling 
 on to for life. 
 
 Hamersley could not help having vague and 
 varied misgivings ; yet among them was one 
 thought in the shape of a determination. It was 
 to return to Albuquerque. 
 
 * I^m sure to be back here,' he said, as if the
 
 30 THE LOXE RAN CHE. 
 
 promise might in some way tranquillise the appre- 
 hensions of his friend. Then changing to a more 
 careless tone, he added : 
 
 ' I cannot come by the spring caravan, for 
 there would not be time enough to make my ar- 
 rangements. But there is a more southern route, 
 lately discovered, that can be travelled at any season. 
 Perhaps I may try that. In any case, I shall 
 write you by the trains leaving the States in spring, 
 so that you may know when to expect me. And 
 if. Colonel Miranda,' he added, after a short re- 
 flective pause, in which his countenance took an 
 altered and graver form of expression, ' if any 
 political trouble, such as you speak of, should 
 occur, and you may find it necessary to flee from 
 your own land, I need not tell you that in mine 
 you will find a friend and a home. After what has 
 happened here, you may depend upon the first 
 being true, and the second hospitable, if humble.' 
 
 On that subject there was no farther exchange 
 of speech. The two individuals so oddly and ac- 
 cidentally introduced, flung aside the stumps of 
 their cigars, and, grasping hands, stood regarding
 
 THE COLOXEL-COMMANDANTE. 31 
 
 one another with the gaze of a sincere unspeak- 
 able friendship. 
 
 Next morning saw Frank Hamersley riding 
 away from the town of Albuquerque, on the road 
 towards the capital of New Mexico. 
 
 He did not travel alone, but with an escort of 
 dragoons, sent to see him safe on the way. The 
 hospitality of the Mexican commandant went be- 
 yond the walls of his house — even beyond the 
 limits of the district he commanded — for the es- 
 cort did not leave his late guest till the latter 
 had set foot upon the jAaza of Santa Fe.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SURROUNDED. 
 
 A PLAIN of pure sand, glaring red-yellow under 
 the first rays of the rising sun, towards the east 
 and w^est apparently illimitable, but interrupted 
 northward by a chain of table -topped hills, and 
 along its southern edge by a continuous cliff rising 
 wall-like to the height of several hundred feet, and 
 trending each way beyond the verge of vision. 
 
 About half-distance between this prolonged 
 'escarpment and the outlying hills, six Conestoga 
 wagons are locked tongue and tail together, en- 
 closing a lozenge-shaped or elliptical space — a cor- 
 ral — inside which are fifteen men and four horses. 
 
 Only ten of the men are living ; the other five 
 are dead, their bodies lying between the wheels of 
 the wagons. Two of the horses have succumbed
 
 SURROUXDED. 33 
 
 to the same fate. Outside are the dead mules, 
 several still attached to the protruding poles, broken 
 as their bodies fell crashing across them. Frag- 
 ments of leather straps and cast gearing tell of 
 others that have torn loose and desperately es- 
 cai)ed from the spot. Inside and all around are 
 traces of a struggle — the ground scored and fur- 
 rowed by the hoofs of horses and the booted feet 
 of men, with here and there little rivulets and pools 
 of blood. This, fast filtering into the sand, shows 
 freshly spilled, some of it yet smoking. All the 
 signs tell of a recent conflict. And so should they, 
 since it is still going on, or only suspended to re- 
 commence a new act of the tragedy, which promises 
 to be still more sanguinary than the one just ter- 
 minated. 
 
 A tragedy easy of explanation. There is no 
 question about why the wagons are encorralled, or 
 how the men, mules, and horses came to be killed. 
 Distant about three hundred yards upon the sandy 
 plain are other men and horses, to the number of 
 near two hundred. Their half-naked bodies of 
 bronze colour, fantastically marked with devices in 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE LONE RAXCHE. 
 
 chalk- will te, cliarcoal-black, and yermilion-red — 
 their buckskin breech-clouts and leggings, with 
 plumes sticking tuft-like above their crowns — tell 
 them to be Indians. 
 
 It is a band of the roaming red-men who have 
 attacked a caravan of whites — no new spectacle on 
 the prairies. 
 
 They have made the first onslaught, which was 
 intended to stampede the caravan, and at once cap- 
 ture it. This was done before daybreak. Foiled 
 in the attempt, they are now laying siege to it, hav- 
 ing surrounded it on all sides at a distance just 
 clearing the range of the rifles of the besieged. 
 Their line forms the circumference of a circle of 
 which the wagon-clump is the centre. It is not 
 very regularly preserved, but ever changing, ever 
 in motion, like some vast constrictor serpent that 
 has thrown its body into a grand coil, to close when- 
 ever ready to give the fatal squeeze to its victim. 
 
 And the 'sictim appears to have no hope of 
 escape — no alternative but to succumb ! 
 
 That the party protected by the wagons have 
 not ' gone under ' at the first onslaught of so many
 
 SURROUXDED. 35 
 
 enemies, is significative of their character. Of a 
 surety they are not common emigrants crossing 
 the prairies on their way to a new home. Had 
 they been so, they could not have closed up their 
 nnwieldly vehicles with such speed and skill ; for 
 they had started from their night-camp, and the 
 attack had been made while the train was in mo- 
 tion — advantage being taken of their slow drag 
 through the soft yielding sand. And had they 
 been but ordinar}^ emigrants, they would not have 
 stood either so promptly or courageously on the 
 defence, and shown such an array of dead enemies 
 around them ; for in the circle of savages outside 
 can be seen at least a score forms lying prostrate 
 upon the plain. 
 
 There is a suspension of hostilities. The red- 
 men, disappointed by the failure of their first 
 charge, have retreated back to a safe distance 
 The death-dealing bullets of the whites, of which 
 they have had fatal proof, for the time hold them 
 there. The pause is not likely to be for long, as 
 their gestures indicate. 
 
 On one side of the circle a body of them clumped
 
 S6 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 together hold counsel. Others gallop around it, as 
 bearers of instructions that evidently relate to a 
 changed plan of attack. With so much blood be- 
 fore their eyes, and the bodies of their slain com- 
 rades, it is not likely they will retire from the 
 ground. In their shouts there is the ring of a 
 resolved vengeance, and a speedy renewal of the 
 fight. 
 
 *Who do you think they are?' asked Frank 
 Hamersley, the proprietor of the assaulted caravan. 
 ■'■ Are they Comanches, Walt ? ' 
 
 ' Yis ; Kimanch,' answered the individual thus 
 addi-essed; ' an' the wust kind o' Kimanch. They're 
 ;a band o' the cowardly Tenawas. I kin tell by 
 thar bows. Don't ye see that thar's two bends in 
 'em?' 
 
 ado.' 
 
 * Wal, that's the sort o' bow the Tenawas carry 
 — same's the Apash.' 
 
 ' The Indians on this route were reported 
 friendly. Why should they have attacked us so 
 fiercely?' 
 
 '■ Injuns ain't niver friendly — not Tenawas.
 
 SURROUNDED. 37 
 
 They've been riled considerable of late by the 
 Texans on the Trinity. Besides, I reck'n I kin 
 guess another reezun. It's owin' to some whites 
 as crossed this way last yur. Thar war a skrim- 
 mage, an' some o' the squaws got killed — I mout 
 say murdered. Thar war some Mexikins along 
 wi' the whites, an't war them that dud it ; an' now 
 we've got to pay for thar cussed conduck.' 
 
 * What's best for us to do, think you ? ' 
 
 ' Thar's no best, I'm afeerd. I kin see no 
 chance 'cept to fight it out to the bitter eend. 
 Thar's no mercy in them yells — neer a morsel 
 o'it.' 
 
 * "\\Tiat do you think they intend doing next ?' 
 
 * Jest yet 'tain't easy to tell. Thar's somethin' 
 afoot among 'em. Some darned Injun trick. Clar 
 as I kin see that big chief with the red cross on 
 his ribs air him they call the Horned Lizard ; an' 
 ef it be, thar ain't a cunniner coon on all this 
 contynent. He's sharp enough to contrive some 
 ugly trick for us. The dose we've gin the skunks 
 may keep 'em off for a while — not long, I reck'n. 
 Darnation ! Thar's five o' our fellows wiped out
 
 38 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 aready. It looks like as ef we've all got to go 
 under.' 
 
 * Don't you think our best way would be to 
 make a dash for it, and try to cut through them ? 
 If we stay here, they'll starve us out. We haven't 
 water enough in the wagons to give us three 
 drinks apiece.' 
 
 '■ I know all that, an' hev thot o't. But you 
 forget about our bosses. Thar's only tw^o left 
 alive — yours and myen. All the rest air shot or 
 stampedoed. Thurfore but two o' us would stand 
 a chance o' gettin' clar, an' that slim enough.' 
 
 ' You are right, Walt ; I did not think of that. 
 I wouldn't leave my men, even if assured of my 
 own safety — never ! ' 
 
 * Nobody as knows you, Frank Hamersley, need 
 be tolt that.' 
 
 * Boys ! ' continued Hamersley, raising his voice 
 so as to be heard all over the corral ; ' I needn't 
 teU you that we're in a fix, and a bad one. There's 
 no help for us but to fight it out ; and if we must 
 die, let us die together.' 
 
 A response from eight voices coming from dif-
 
 SURROUNDED. 39 
 
 ferent sides — for the men watcliing the moYements 
 of the enemy were posted around the enclosure — 
 told there was not a craven among them. They 
 were all old prairie traders — most of them from 
 Kentucky and Tennessee. 
 
 *In any case,' continued the owner of the 
 caravan, ^ we must hold our ground till night. 
 In the darkness there may be some chance of our 
 escaping.' 
 
 These words had scarce passed the lips of the 
 young prairie merchant, when their effect was 
 counteracted by an exclamation. It came from 
 Walt Wilder, the guide of the caravan. 
 
 ' Xo ! ' he cried, ' not the shadder o' a chance. 
 They ain't goin' to give us till night. I knew the 
 Horned Lizard 'ud be arter some trick. I see it 
 now.' 
 
 * What is it?' asked several voices. 
 
 * Look v\'here that lot's stannin' out yonder. 
 Can't ye tell what they're at, Frank Hamersley ? ' 
 
 'I can see that they have got their bows in 
 their hands.' 
 
 * An' thar arrers too. Don't you see they're
 
 40 THE LONE RANCHE, 
 
 wroppin' somethin' round the heads o' the arrers 
 — looks like bits o' rags ?' 
 
 ' I can see that.' 
 
 ' Rags it air, then — sopped in spittles an' pow- 
 der.' 
 
 * For what purpose ? ' 
 
 * They're agoin' to set the wagons afire ! That's 
 jest what they're goin' to do, the cowartly skunks. 
 Now, boys, we've got to look out for squalls.' 
 
 The men, each of whom was watching the post 
 assigned to him, despite their danger, already ex- 
 treme, saw fresh cause of alarm in the announce- 
 ment. Some ray of hope had hitherto withheld 
 them from despairing. Under the protection of 
 the wagons they might sustain a siege, so long 
 as their ammunition lasted ; and before it gave 
 out some chance thing, they could not think what, 
 might turn up in their favour. It was a mere re- 
 flection founded on probabilities still unscrutinised 
 — the last tenacious struggle before hope gives 
 way to utter and palpable despair. Hamersley's 
 words had for an instant cheered them; for the 
 thought of the Indians setting fire to the wagons
 
 SURROUNDED. 41 
 
 had never occurred to any of the party. It was 
 unknown to their experience, and at such a dis- 
 tance too the thing might have heen supposed 
 impracticable or impossible. 
 
 But as they now looked around them, and 
 saw the canvas tilts and light timbers, dry as chips 
 from long exposure to the hot prairie sun; the 
 piles of dry goods — woollen blankets, cotton and 
 silken stuffs — that had been intended for the stores 
 of Chihuahua, some of which they had hastily 
 pulled from their places to form protecting barri- 
 cades — when they saw all this, and then the pre- 
 parations the Indians were making, it is no wonder 
 they should feel dismay when Walt Wilder cried 
 out, ' They're a-goin* to set the ivagons afire /' 
 
 The announcement, although carrying alarm, 
 conveyed no counsel. Even the guide, with a life- 
 long experience on the prairies, was at a loss how 
 they ought to act in this unexpected emergency. 
 In the wagons water there was none — at least not 
 enough to have drowned out a conflagration such 
 as that threatened ; and from the way the Indians 
 were gesturing, the traders could predict that soon
 
 42 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 a shower of fiery missiles would be sent into their 
 midst. None of them but had experience suffi- 
 cient to admonish them of the mode intended. 
 Even if they had never set foot upon a prairie, 
 their school-stories and legends of early life would 
 have told them. Arrows with tinder rag wrapt 
 round their barbs, on fire and spitting sparks, or 
 brightly a-blaze ! 
 
 If any were ignorant of the missile, or the 
 mode of dispatching it on its mischievous errand, 
 it was not to be for long. Almost as soon as 
 Wilder had given utterance to the warning words, 
 half a score of the Indians were seen springing to 
 the backs of their horses, each bearing a bow with 
 a bunch of the prepared shafts ; and before any 
 steps could be taken by the besieged traders, or 
 any counsel exchanged between them, the pyro- 
 technic display had commenced. It was done by 
 the savages galloping in circles around the wagon 
 clump, their bodies concealed behind those of 
 theii' horses — only a leg and arm showing, or 
 now and then a face seen for an instant, and then 
 quickly -v^dthdrawn. Not exactly in circles, but in
 
 SURROUNDED. 43 
 
 spiral lings, at each turn contracting nearer and 
 nearer, till the true distance was attained for send- 
 ing the fiery messengers. 
 
 * Stand to your guns, boys !' was the hurried 
 command of the guide, backed by a speech of en- 
 couragement from the proprietor of the caravan. 
 
 ' Two an' two o' ye look out thegither. Let 
 one bring down the horse — t'other take care 0' the 
 rider as he gits unkivered. Make sure afore ye 
 pull trigger, an' don't tvaste so much as the snap- 
 pin' 0' a cap. Thar goes the first o' the fireworks !' 
 
 As he spoke, a spark was seen to shoot out from 
 one of the galloping horses, which, rising rocket- 
 like into the air, came on in a parabolic curve to- 
 wards the wagons. It feU short some twenty yards, 
 and lay smoking and sputtering in the sand. 
 
 * They han't got thar distance yit,' cried Walt 
 Wilder ; ' but this child hez got his — leastwise for 
 that skunk on the blue mustang. So hyar goes 
 to rub him off 0' the list 0' fire -shooters.' 
 
 And with the last words went the crack of 
 Wilder's riflie. 
 
 The young prairie merchant by his side, sup-
 
 44 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 posing him to have aimed only at the Indian's 
 horse, had raised his own gun, • ready to take the 
 rider as soon as he should he uncovered. 
 
 'No need, Frank,' said the guide, restraining 
 him. ' This child don't waste two churges o' 
 powder that way. Keep your bullet for the kar- 
 kidge o' the next as comes 'ithin range. Look 
 yonder ! I know'd I'd fetch him out o' his stir- 
 rups, tight as he's tried to cling to 'em. Thar 
 he goes to grass !' 
 
 Hamersley, as also the others on the same 
 side of the corral with Wilder, thought that the 
 shot had been a miss ; for the Indian at whom he 
 had aimed still stuck to his horse, and was carried 
 for some distance on in a curving career. Nor 
 did the animal show any sign of having been hit. 
 But the rider was. While engaged in the effort 
 of sending his arrow, the savage had exposed his 
 face, one arm, and part of the other ; and ere he 
 could withdraw them, the bullet had struck him 
 on the arm that supported him, breaking the bone 
 close to the elbow-joint. He had clung on with 
 the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that to
 
 S URR UNDED. 45 
 
 let go would be certain death to him. But, 
 despite all his efforts the crippled arm failed to 
 sustain him ; and, with a despairing cr}^, he at 
 length dropped to the ground. Before he could 
 rise to his feet, his body was bored by a bullet 
 from one of the men watching on that side, which 
 laid him out lifeless upon the sand. 
 
 No cheer of triumph rose up among the wagons 
 — the situation of those who defended them was 
 too serious for any such idle exhibition. The man 
 who had fired the last shot only hastened to re- 
 load his rifle ; w^hile the others remained mute 
 and motionless, each on the look-out for a like 
 opportunity. The fall of their comrade taught 
 the other freebooters a lesson, and for a time they 
 made their approach with more caution. But the 
 shouts of those standing spectators in the outer 
 circle stimulated them to fresh efforts, as the 
 slightest show of cowardice would have caused 
 them to be taunted. Those intrusted with the 
 fiery arrows were all young warriors, chosen for 
 the dangerous service, or volunteers to perform it. 
 The eyes of their chief and the braves of the tribe
 
 46 THE LOXE RANG HE. 
 
 were upon them. These were thirsting for gloiy, 
 as those for revenge ; and hy the former, life was 
 held as of little account in the face of an achieve- 
 ment that would gain them the distinction most 
 coveted by an Indian youth — the glory that might 
 give him rank as a warrior, and perhaps some day 
 raise him to a chieftaincy. 
 
 Stimulated by this thought, they soon forgot 
 the check caused by the fall of their comrade ; and 
 laying aside caution they closed nearer and nearer, 
 till their arrows one after another went hurtling 
 through the air, and dropped like a continuous 
 shower of spent rocket-sticks upon the covers of 
 the wagons. 
 
 Several fell under the bullets from the bar- 
 ricade; but theu- places were supplied by fi-esh 
 volunteers from the outside circle, and the spark- 
 ling shower was kept up till a curl of smoke was 
 seen soaring fi*om the white tilts of the wagons ; 
 not one, but half a dozen of them, and on different 
 sides of the corral. 
 
 * We're on fire!' cried Walt Wilder, looking 
 above and around — ' on fire iverywhar !'
 
 SURROUNDED. ^j 
 
 ' Great God ! yes ; what are we to do ?' asked 
 several Yoices despairingly. 
 
 ' What are we to do ?' shouted the guide in 
 response. ' What Jc'in we do, but fight it out to 
 the death, an' then die ! So, boys, let us die, not 
 like dogs, but as men — as Americans J'
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 
 
 The brave words had scarce passed from Walt 
 Wilder's lips, when the wagons became enveloped 
 in smoke. From all sides the cloud rolled into 
 the corral, and the men could no longer see one 
 another. 
 
 Still through the obscurity rang their cries of 
 mutual encouragement, repeating the determina- 
 tion so tersely expressed. 
 
 There was no water by which to extinguish the 
 fast-threatening flames ; yet, in that moment of 
 emergency, they thought of an expedient. There 
 were shovels in the wagons ; and la^^ng hold of 
 these, they commenced flinging sand over the spots 
 that had caught fire, with the intent to smother
 
 KNIFE, PISTOL, AXD HATCHET. 49 
 
 the incipient blaze. Left alone and with time 
 they would have succeeded. But they were not left 
 alone : for the savages, seeing the advantage they 
 had gained, were now fast closing for a final charge 
 upon the corral, and the implements of industry 
 had to be abandoned. 
 
 They were thrown despairingly aside ; and the 
 men, once more grasping their rifles, sprang back 
 into the wagons, each with eager eye searching for 
 an assailant. Though themselves half blinded by 
 the smoke, they could still see the enemy outside ; 
 for the Indians, grown confident by the cowp they 
 had made, were now riding recklessly nearer. 
 Quick came the reports of rifles — faster and more 
 frequent than ever; fast as ten men — all prac- 
 tised marksmen — could load and fire. In less 
 than sixty seconds nearly a score of savages dropped 
 down from their horses, pierced by the fatal bul- 
 let — till the plain appeared strewn with dead 
 bodies. 
 
 But the crisis had come — the time for a general 
 charge of the whole band ; and now the dusky out- 
 side ring was seen gradually contracting toward 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 5o THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 the wagons — the warriors advancing from all sides, 
 some on foot, others on horseback, each eager to 
 secure the trophy of a scalp. 
 
 On the}^ came with wild vengeful gestures, with 
 wilder and more vengeful yells. 
 
 To the besieged it was the moment of despair. 
 The wagons were on fire all around them. In 
 several places flames were beginning to flicker up 
 through the smoke. They no longer made at- 
 tempts to extinguish them. They saw it would 
 be idle. 
 
 Did they think of surrender ? No — not a man 
 of them. That would have been equally idle. In 
 the voices of the advancing foe there was not one 
 tone — one accent of mercy. 
 
 Surrender ! and be slain afterwards ! Before 
 death to be tortured, perhaps dragged at a horse's 
 tail, or set up as a target for the Tenawa sharp- 
 shooters to practise at. No ! They would have to 
 die an3-how. Better now than then. They were 
 not the men to offer both cheeks to the insulter. 
 They could resign sweet life, sweeter with corpses 
 of Indians Ij^ing thickly around them. They
 
 KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 51 
 
 would first make a hecatomb of their hated foes, 
 and then fall upon it. That is the sort of death 
 preferred by the prairie man — hunter, trapper, or 
 trader — glorious to him as the cannon-furrowed 
 field to the soldier. That is the sort of death of 
 which Walt Wilder spoke when he said : ' Let tis 
 die, not like dogs, hut as men — as Americans /' 
 
 By this time the smoke had completely 
 shrouded the wagons, the enclosed space between, 
 and a fringe of some depth around them. But a 
 still darker ring was around all — the circle of 
 savage horsemen, who from all sides had galloped 
 up, and dismounted to make surer work of the 
 slaughter. The warriors jostled one another as 
 they pressed forward afoot, each thirsting for a 
 trophy — a scalp. 
 
 The last throe of the conflict had come. It 
 was no longer to be a duel at a distance — no 
 more a contest between rifle-bullets and barbed 
 arrows; but the close desperate hand-to-hand 
 conflict of pistol, knife, spear, club, and hatchet. 
 
 The ten white men — none of them yet hurt — ■ 
 knew well what was before them. Not one of 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 them blanched, or talked of backing. They did not 
 even think of surrender. 
 
 It would have been too late to sue for mercy, 
 had they been so inclined. But they were not. 
 Attacked without provocation and treacherously, 
 as they had been, their fury was stronger than 
 theu' fear, and anger now nerved them to a fren- 
 zied energy of action. 
 
 The Indians were no longer advancing upon 
 them. They were already close around the wagons, 
 clustering upon the wheels, or like snakes wrig- 
 gling through the spaces left undefended. Eifles 
 had ceased to ring ; but pistols cracked — repeating- 
 pistols that dealt death at every shot, sending red- 
 skin after red-skin to the happy hunting-grounds. 
 And by the pistol's flash blades were seen gleam- 
 ing through the smoke, now bright, but soon 
 dimmed and dripping blood. 
 
 For every white man that fell, at least three 
 Indians dropped dead upon the sand. 
 
 The unequal contest could not long continue. 
 Scarce ten minutes did it last, and but for the 
 obscuring smoke five would have finished it. This
 
 KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 53 
 
 was in favour of the assailed, enabling them to 
 act with advantage against the assailants. Such 
 a quick wholesale slaughter did the white men 
 make with their repeating-pistols, that the savages, 
 surprised and staggered by it, for a moment re- 
 coiled, and appeared as if again going to retreat* 
 They did not — they dared not. Their superior 
 numbers — the shame of being defeated by such 
 a handful of foes — the glory of conquest — and, 
 added to it, an angry vengeance now hot in their 
 hearts — all urged them on; and the attack was 
 renewed with greater earnestness than ever. 
 
 Throughout every scene in the strife, Frank 
 Hamersley had comported himself with a courage 
 that made his men feel less fear of death, and less 
 regret to die by his side. Fighting like a lion, 
 and shouting encouragement to his comrades, he 
 had been here and there and everywhere. He had 
 done his full share of killing. 
 
 It was all in vain. Though standing in the 
 midst of thick smoke, unseeing and unseen, he 
 knew that most of his faithful men had fallen. He 
 was admonished of this by the less frequent re-
 
 54 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 sponses to the cries of encouragement, telling 
 him the struggle was close upon its termination. 
 No wonder his fury 'was fast giving place to de- 
 spair. But it was no craven fear, nor any thought 
 of escape. His determination not to he taken 
 alive was strong as ever. 
 
 His hand still firmly clasped the bowie-knife — 
 its blade dripping with the blood of more than one 
 enemy, for into the body of more than one savage 
 had he plunged it. He clutched it with the de- 
 termination still farther to kill — to take j'et an- 
 other life before parting with his own. It was 
 hopeless, useless slaughtering; but it was sweet. 
 He was insane with anger, and thought it sweet. 
 
 Three dusky antagonists lay dead at his feet, 
 and he was dashing through the corral in search 
 of a fourth. A giant form loomed up before him — 
 looking more gigantic from the magnifying effect 
 of the smoke. It was not that of a savage. It 
 was Walt Wilder. 
 
 'Dead beat!' hoarsely and hurriedly shouted 
 the guide. ' We must go under, Frank. We're 
 boun' to go under, if we don't — '
 
 KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 55 
 
 'Don't what, Walt?' 
 
 * Git away from liyar.' 
 
 * Impossible.' 
 
 'No. Thar's still a chance, I think — for us 
 two anyways. Thar ain't many 0' the others left, 
 an' ef thar war, we can't do 'em any good now. 
 Our stayin' 'ud be no use to 'em — no use dyin' 
 along wi' 'em ; an ef we git clar, we'll revenge 
 'em. Don't ye see our bosses are still safe ? Thar 
 they air, cowerin' clost in agin one 0' the wagons. 
 Tain't much chance, I admit, still thar's a shad- 
 der. Come on ! let's try it !' 
 
 Hamersley hesitated. It was the thought of 
 deserting even the last of his faithful followers, 
 who had sacrificed, or were still sacrificing, their 
 lives in his service. But as the guide had truly 
 said, what good could he do them by staying to be 
 killed ? And he might survive to avenge them ? 
 
 The last thought would have decided him. 
 But Wilder had not waited for the determination. 
 While speaking the urgent words, he had laid his 
 huge hand upon Hamersley's shoulder, and half 
 led, half dragged him in the direction of the horses.
 
 56 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 ' Keep hold o' yur rifle, though it be empy/ 
 hurriedly counselled the guide. ' If we shed get 
 away, it will be needed. We mout as well go 
 under hyar as be up on the paraira 'ithout a gun. 
 Now mount !' 
 
 Almost mechanically the young Kentuckiau 
 climbed upon the back of the horse nearest him — 
 his own. The guide had not yet mounted his, 
 and Hamersley saw through the smoke that he was 
 leaning against the wheel of one of the wagons. 
 In an instant after he perceived that the vehicle 
 was in motion, and he could hear a slight grating 
 noise as the tire turned in the sand. The great 
 Conestoga with its load had yielded to the strength 
 of the Colossus. 
 
 In another instant a horseman was by his side, 
 who muttered in his ear : 
 
 * Now, Frank, I've opened a crack atween the 
 two. Let's cut out through it. We kin keep in 
 the kiver o' the smoke, as far as it'll screen us. 
 You foller, an' see that ye don't lose sight o' me. 
 If we must go under in the eend, let it be out on 
 the open plain, an' not shet up hyar like badgers
 
 KXIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 57 
 
 in a berril. Follow me clost, Frank. Now or 
 niver !' 
 
 Almost mechanically, Hamersley yielded obedi- 
 ence ; and in ten seconds after, the two horsemen 
 had cleared the wagon clump, with the shouting 
 crowd that encircled it, and were going at full 
 gallop across the sandy plain.
 
 
 CHAPTER at:. 
 
 THEOUGH THE SMOKE. 
 
 In making their bold dash, Walt Wilder was not 
 acting without a plan. He had one, preconceived. 
 The smoke, with its covering cloud, might be the 
 means of concealment and salvation ; at all events 
 it might cover their retreat long enough to give 
 them a start of the pursuers, and then the speed 
 of their horses could possibly be depended upon 
 for the rest. 
 
 They followed this plan ; but unfortunately 
 soon found that the smoke was not drifting in 
 the right direction. The breeze carried it almost 
 straight towards the line of the cliffs, while their 
 only chance would be to strike for the open plain. 
 At the cliffs their flight would be stopped, for there 
 appeared to be no passage either for man or horse.
 
 THROUGH THE SMOKE. 59 
 
 So far the cloud of smoke had favoured them. 
 Thick and stifling in the immediate vicinity of 
 the wagons, it had enabled them to slip unob- 
 served through the ruck of savages. Many of 
 these, still mounted, had seen them pass outward, 
 but through the blue film had mistaken them for 
 two of their own men. They perhaps knew no- 
 thing of the animals inside the corral, and did 
 not expect to see any of their caged enemies at- 
 tempting to escape on horseback. Besides they 
 were now busy endeavouring to extinguish the 
 fires in the wagons, all resistance being at an 
 end. 
 
 As yet there was no sign of pursuit, and the 
 fugitives kept on with the protecting nimbus 
 around them. In the soft sand their horses* 
 hoofs made no trampling noise, and they gal- 
 loped towards the clifi" silent as spectres. 
 
 On reaching the rocks, it became necessary for 
 them either to change the direction of their flight, 
 or bring it to a termination. The red-sandstone 
 escarpment towered vertically before them, like a 
 wall of rude mason-work. A cat could not have
 
 6o THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 scaled it, much less horse or man. They paused 
 to consider. 
 
 Should they at once ride out from the smoke, 
 or for a time keep within its friendly shelter ? 
 
 By doing the first they were sure of being 
 discovered, and by staying all the same. 
 
 The cloud would soon clear off, and they 
 would then be seen from the wagons. Already it 
 was fast thinning around them; the Indians having 
 nearly extinguished the fires in order to save the 
 treasure — which had no doubt been their chief 
 object for attacking the caravan. They had stilled 
 the flames by flinging sand upon them. Soon 
 there would be no smoke — and then ? The 
 pursued men stayed not for farther reflection. 
 Delay would only add to their danger ; and with 
 this thought urging them on, they wheeled their 
 horses to the left, and headed along the line 
 of the blufi". Six seconds after and they were 
 riding in a pure atmosphere, under a clear dazz- 
 ling sunlight. 
 
 But it gave them no joy. A yell from the 
 wagons told them they were seen, and simul-
 
 THROUGH THE SMOKE. 
 
 taneously with the shout they perceived a score of 
 horsemen spurring up at full-speed toward them. 
 
 They were both splendidly mounted, and might 
 still have had a fair chance of escape; but now an- 
 other sight met their eyes that once more drove 
 them to despair. 
 
 A promontory of the cliff, stretching far out 
 into the sandy plain, lay directly in their track. 
 Its point was nearer to the pursuers than to them. 
 Before they could reach and turn it, their retreat 
 would be intercepted. 
 
 Might they escape in the opposite direction ? 
 
 Again suddenly turning, they galloped back as 
 they had come ; again entered the belt of smoke, 
 and riding on through it, reached the clear sunlight 
 beyond. 
 
 Again a torturing disappointment. Another 
 promontory — twin to the first — jutted out there 
 to obstruct them. 
 
 There was no mystery in the matter. They 
 saw the mistake they had made. In escaping 
 under cover of the smoke, they had gone too far, 
 having ridden into a deep embayment of the cliff.
 
 (i2 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Their pursuers, wlio liad turned promptly as 
 they, once more had the advantage. The pro- 
 jecting point was nearer to them, and they would 
 be almost certain to arrive at it first. 
 
 For the fugitives there appeared no alternative 
 hut to ride on, and take the chances of hewing 
 their way through the savage host. 
 
 ^ Git your knife riddy, Frank !' shouted Wil- 
 der, as he dug his spurs into his horse's sides, 
 and put the animal to his full speed. ' Let's keep 
 close thegither — livin' or dead, let's keep close 
 thegither !' 
 
 Their steeds needed no urging. To an Ame- 
 rican horse accustomed to the prairies, there is no 
 spur like the yell of an Indian ; for he knows that 
 along with it usually comes the shock of a bullet, 
 or the sting of a barbed shaft. 
 
 Both bounded off together, and went over the 
 soft sand, silent, but swift as the wind. 
 
 In vain. Before they could reach the projecting 
 point, the savages were clustering around it ; and 
 with spears couched, bows bent, and clubs bran- 
 dished, stood ready to receive them. It was a
 
 THROUGH THE SMOKE. ^t, 
 
 gauntlet tliat a chased tiger might despair of being 
 able to run. 
 
 Truly seemed their retreat now cut off, and 
 surely did death appear to be staring them in 
 the face. So thought the young prairie merchant, 
 as he turned despairingly toward his companion. 
 
 With a quick searching glance Wilder ran his 
 eye along the base of the cliff. The rock of red 
 sandstone rose rugged and frowning, full five- 
 hundred feet overhead. To the superficial glance 
 it seemed to forbid all chance either of being 
 scaled or of giving concealment. There was not 
 even a boulder below, behind which they could 
 find shelter from the shafts of the pursuers. For 
 all that, Wilder continued to scan it, as if he was 
 recalling some old recollection. 
 
 'It must be the place,' he muttered. *It is, 
 by G — d !' he added more emphatically, once more 
 wrenching his horse around, spurring on, and crying 
 out to his companion to follow him. 
 
 Hamersley obeyed, and rode off without know- 
 ing what next. But in another instant he divined 
 the intent of this sudden change in the tactics of
 
 64 THE LOXE RANG HE. 
 
 his fellow-fugitive. There was an opening in the 
 precipitous escarpment ! 
 
 It was a mere crack or chine, scarce so wide 
 as a doorway, and harely large enough to admit a 
 man on horseback. Vertically it traversed to the 
 top of the cliff, splitting its facade from base to 
 summit. • 
 
 'From yurhoss!' cried Wilder, as he puUed- 
 up in front of it, at the same time flinging himself 
 off his own. 'Drop the bridle and leave him be- 
 hint. One o' 'em '11 be enough for what I want, 
 an' let it be myen. Poor critter, it air a pitty too ! 
 But it can't be helped. We must hev some kiver 
 to screen us. Quick, Frank, quick, or the skunks 
 '11 be on to us !' 
 
 Painful as it was to abandon his brave steed, 
 Hamersley did as directed without well knowing 
 why. The last speeches of the guide were some- 
 what enigmatical, but he knew they must have 
 meaning, and that of importance. 
 
 * Now up into the kanyon, 'ithout losin' a se- 
 cond. Hyar, take my rifle, an' load both o' 'em, 
 whiles I see to the closin' o' the gap.'
 
 THROUGH THE SMOKE. 65 
 
 Seizing both guns in his grasp, Hamersley 
 sprang into the chine, stopping when he had got 
 well inside the jaws. Wilder followed, leading 
 his horse by the bridle. There was a stone lying 
 across the aperture, over which the horse had to 
 straddle. It was above two feet in height, and 
 when he had got his forelegs over it, Wilder held 
 him at a stand. Though hitherto following with 
 meek obedience, the horse trembled, and showed 
 the inclination to shy back. There was an ex- 
 pression in his owner's eye he had never seen there 
 before — something that frayed him. But he could 
 not now escape, even if ever so inclined. With 
 his ribs close pressing the rocks on either side, he 
 could not rear round, and a firm hold in front hin- 
 dered him from backing. 
 
 Hamersley, busily engaged in loading the rifles, 
 nevertheless found time to glance at Wilder's 
 doings, wondering what he was about. 
 
 ' It air a pity !' again exclaimed the guide, re- 
 peating the same words, and in a similar tone of 
 commiseration. ' But it must be done. If thar 
 war a rock big enough, or a log, or any thin'. No ! 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 tliar ain't neer a tiling. ' No other chance to make 
 kiver. So hyar goes for a hit o' hutcherin'.' 
 
 As the guide thus delivered himself, Hamersley 
 saw him pluck the howie-knife from his helt, its 
 hlade hlack-red with human gore. In another in- 
 stant its edge was drawn across the throat of the 
 horse, leaving a gash behind from which the blood 
 gushed forth in a thick strong stream, like water 
 from the spout of a pump. The animal made a 
 desperate effort to hack ; hut with his head dragged 
 down to his forelegs over the rock, he was unable 
 to stir from the spot. After a convulsive throe or 
 two, he sank down, till his belly touched the stone 
 underneath. In this attitude he ended his life; 
 his head after a time dropping down, his eye appa- 
 rently turned with a last reproachful look upon the 
 master who had murdered him. 
 
 * It hed to be did; thar war no help for it,' 
 said Walt Wilder, as he hurriedly turned towards 
 his companion. * Have you got the guns churged?' 
 
 Hamersley made answer by handing to the 
 guide his own gun. It was loaded and ready. 
 
 *Darn the stinkin' cowarts!' he exclaimed,
 
 THROUGH THE SMOKE. 67 
 
 grasping it, and then facing towards the plain. 
 ' I don't know how it may all eend, but this '11 
 keep 'em off a while, anyhow.' 
 
 As he spoke he threw himself behind the body 
 of his slaughtered steed, that, sustained in an 
 upright position between the counterpart walls, 
 formed a safe barricade against the bullets and 
 arrows of the Indians. These, now riding straight 
 towards the spot, made the rocks resound with 
 exclamations of surprise — shouts that spoke of a 
 delayed, perhaps defeated, vengeance. 
 
 They took care, however, not to come within 
 range of that long steel-gray tube, that, turning 
 like a telescope on its pivot, commanded a semi- 
 circle of at least a hundred yards radius around 
 the opening in the cliff.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 THE PURSUEES AT BAY. 
 
 Despite all the earnestness of their vengeful 
 anger, the savage pursuers were now fairly at bay, 
 and for a time could be kept so. 
 
 Hamersley looked upon it as being but a re- 
 spite — a mere temporary deliverance from danger, 
 yet to terminate in death. They had got into a 
 crevice of rock, where, to all appearance, the}' 
 could defend themselves as long as their ammu- 
 nition lasted, or as they could withstand the as- 
 saults of thirst or the cravings of hunger. How 
 were they to get out again ? As well might they 
 have been besieged in a cave, with no chance of 
 sortie or escape. 
 
 These thoughts he communicated to his com- 
 panion, as soon as they found time to talk.
 
 THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 69 
 
 * Hunger an' thirst ain't notliin' to do wi' it,' 
 was Wilder's response. ' We ain't agoin' to stay 
 liyar not twenty minutes, if this child kin manage 
 it as he intends ter do. Ye don't s'pose I rushed 
 into this hyar hole like a chased rabbit ? No, 
 Frank; I've heern 0' this place afore, from some 
 fellurs thet, like ourselves, made cacM in it from a 
 band 0' pursuing Kimanch. Thar's a way leads 
 out at the back ; an' jest as soon as we kin throw 
 dust in the eyes 0' these yellin' varmints in front, 
 we'll put straight for it. I don't know what sort 
 o' a passage thar is — up the rocks by some kind 
 o' raveen, I b'lieve. We must do our best to find it.' 
 
 * But how do you intend to keep them from 
 following us ? You speak of throwing dust in 
 their eyes — how, Walt ?' 
 
 'You wait, watch, an' see. You won't hev 
 yur patience terrifically tried ; for thar ain't 
 much time to spare about it. Thar's another 
 passage up the clifts, not far off: not a doubt but 
 these Injuns know it ; an' ef we don't make haste, 
 they'll git up thar, an' come in upon us by the 
 back-door; which trick won't do, nohow-somedever.
 
 70 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 You keep yurself in readiness, an' watch what 
 I'm agoin' to do. When you see me scoot up 
 backwards, foller 'ithout sayin' a word.' 
 
 Hamersley promised compliance ; and the 
 guide, still kneeling behind the barricade he had 
 so cruelly constructed, commenced a series of 
 manoeuvres that held his companion in speechless 
 conjecture. 
 
 He first placed his gun in such a position, that 
 the barrel resting across the hips of the dead 
 horse projected beyond the tail. In this position 
 he made it fast, by tying the butt with a piece of 
 string to a projecting part of the saddle. He next 
 took the cap from his head — a coon-skin it was — 
 and set it so that its upper edge could be seen 
 alongside the pommel, and rising about three 
 inches above the croup. The ruse was an old 
 one, with some new additions and embellish- 
 ments. 
 
 ' It's all done now,' said Wilder, turning away 
 from the carcass, and crouching back to where hi& 
 comrade awaited him. * Come on, Frank. If 
 they don't diskiver the trick tiU we've got time ta
 
 THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 71 
 
 speel up the clift, then thar's still a chance for us. 
 Come on, an' keep clost arter me !' 
 
 Frank followed without saying a word. He 
 knew that his guide, well known and long trusted, 
 had a reason for everything he did. It was not 
 the time to question him, or discuss the prudence 
 of the step he was taking. There might be danger 
 before, but there was death — sure death — behind 
 them. 
 
 In less than a dozen paces from its entrance, 
 the chine opened into a wider space, again closing 
 like a pair of callipers. It was a hollow of ellipti- 
 cal shape — resembling an old-fashioned butter-boat 
 — scooped out of the solid rock, on all sides pre- 
 cipitous, except at its upper end. Here a ravine, 
 sloping down from the summit-level above, would, 
 to the geologist, at once proclaim the secret of its 
 formation. Not so easily explained might seem 
 the narrow outlet to the open plain. But one 
 skilled in the testimony of the rocks would detect 
 certain ferruginous veins in the sandstone, that, re- 
 fusing to yield to the erosion of the running stream, 
 had stood for countless ages.
 
 72 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 Neitlier Walt Wilder nor tlie young Kentuckian 
 gave thought to such scientific speculations, as 
 they retreated through the narrow gap, and hack 
 into the wider gorge. All they knew, or cared 
 for, was, that a guUey at the opposite end was 
 seen to slope upward, promising a path to the 
 plain ahove. 
 
 In sixty seconds they were in it ; toiling on- 
 ward and upward amidst a chaos of rocks, where 
 no horse could follow — loose houlders, that looked 
 as if hurled down from the heavens ahove, or 
 belched upward from the bowels of the earth. 
 
 The retreat of the fugitives up the ravine, like 
 their dash out of the enclosed corral, was still but 
 a doubtful effort. Neither of them had full con- 
 fidence of being able eventual^ to escape. It was 
 like the wounded squirrel clutching at the last 
 tiny twig of a tree, however unable to support it. 
 They were not quite certain that the sloping gorge 
 would give them a path to the upper plain ; for 
 Wilder had only a doubtful recollection of what 
 some trapper had told him. But even if it did, 
 the Indians, expert climbers as they were, would
 
 THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 73 
 
 soon be after them, close upon their heels. The 
 ruse could not remain long undetected. 
 
 They had plunged into the chasm as drowning 
 men grasp at the nearest thing afloat — a slender 
 branch or bunch of grass, a straw. 
 
 As they now ascended the rock-strewn gorge 
 both had their reflections, which, though un- 
 spoken, were very similar. And from these came 
 a gleam of hope. If they could but reach the 
 summit-level of the clifl'! Their pursuers could 
 of course do the same ; but not on horseback. It 
 would then be a contest of pedestrian speed. The 
 white men felt confidence in their swiftness of 
 foot ; in this respect believing themselves superior 
 to their savage pursuers. They knew that the 
 Comanches were horse Indians, a significant fact. 
 These centaurs of the central plateaux, scarce ever 
 setting foot upon the earth, when afoot are almost 
 as helpless as birds with their wings plucked or 
 pinioned. 
 
 If they could reach the crest of the cliff, then 
 all might yet be well ; and cheered by this thought, 
 they rushed up the rock -strewed ravine, now
 
 74 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 gliding along ledges, now squeezing their bodies 
 between great boulders, or springing from one 
 to the other — in the audacity of their bounds 
 rivalling a brace of big-horns. 
 
 They had got more than half-way up, when 
 cries came pealing up the glen behind them. Still 
 were they hidden from the eyes of their pursuers. 
 Jutting points of rock, and huge masses that lay 
 loose in the bed of the ravine, had hitherto con- 
 cealed them. But for these, bullets and arrows 
 would have been whistling about their ears, and 
 perhaps put an end to their flight. The savages 
 were near enough to send either gun-shot or shaft, 
 and their voices, borne upward on the air, sounded 
 as clear as if they were close at hand. 
 
 The fugitives, as already said, had reached 
 more than half-way up the slope, and were begin- 
 ning to congratulate themselves, on a fair chance 
 of escape. They even thought of the course they 
 should take on arriving at the summit-level, for 
 they knew there was an open plain above. All at 
 once they were brought to a stop, though not by 
 anything that obstructed theii- path. On the con-
 
 THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 75 
 
 trary, it only seemed easier; for there were now 
 two ways open to them instead of one — the ravine 
 at this point forking into two distinct branches. 
 There was a choice of which to take, and it was 
 this that caused them to make stop, at the same 
 time creating embarrassment. 
 
 The pause, however, was but for a brief space 
 of time — only long enough to make a hasty recon- 
 naissance. In the promise of an easy ascent there 
 seemed but little difierence between the two paths, 
 and the guide soon came to a determination. 
 
 'It's a toss-up atween 'em,' he said; 'but 
 let's take the one to the right. It looks a leetle 
 the likest.' 
 
 Of course his fellow-fugitive did not dissent, 
 and they struck into the right-hand ravine ; but 
 not until Walt Wilder had plucked the red ker- 
 chief from his head, and flung it as far as he 
 could up the left one, where it was left lying in a 
 conspicuous position among the rocks. 
 
 He did not say why he had thus strangely 
 abandoned the remnant of his head-gear ; but his 
 companion, sufficiently experienced in the ways
 
 76 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 and wiles of prairie life, stood in no need of an 
 explanation. 
 
 The track they had now taken was of compa- 
 ratively easy ascent ; and it was this, perhaps, 
 that had tempted Wilder to take it. But, like 
 most things, both in the moral and physical world, 
 its easiness proved a delusion. They had not 
 gone twenty paces farther up when the sloping 
 chasm terminated. It debouched on a little plat- 
 form, covered with large loose stones, that there 
 rested after having fallen from the cliff above. 
 
 But at a single glance they saw that this cliff 
 could not be scaled ! 
 
 They had entered into a trap, out of which 
 there was no chance of escape or retreat, without 
 throwing themselves back upon the breasts of 
 their pursuers. 
 
 The Indians were already ascending the main 
 ravine. By their voices it could be told that they 
 had reached the point where it divided ; for there 
 was a momentary suspension of their cries, as 
 with the baying of hounds thrown suddenly off 
 the scent.
 
 THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 77 
 
 It would not be for long. They would likel}' 
 first follow up the chasm where the kerchief had 
 been cast; but should that also prove a cul-de-sac, 
 they would return and try the other. 
 
 The fugitives saw that it was too late to re- 
 trace their steps. They sprang together upon 
 the platform, and commenced searching among 
 the loose rocks, with a faint hope of finding some 
 place of concealment. 
 
 It was but a despairing sort of search, again 
 like to drowning men who clutch at a straw. 
 
 All at once an exclamation from the guide called 
 his companion to his side. It was accompanied by 
 a gesture, and followed by words low-muttered. 
 
 * Look hyar, Frank ! Look at this hole ! 
 Darnation ! let's get into it !' 
 
 As Hamersley came close he perceived a dark 
 cavity among the stones, to which Wilder was 
 pointing. It opened vertically downward, and was 
 of an irregular roundish shape, somewhat resem- 
 bling the mouth of a well, half-coped with slabs. 
 
 Dare they enter it? Could they? What 
 depth was it ?
 
 78 THE LOXE RANCHE. 
 
 Wilder took up a pebble and flung it do\sTi. 
 They could bear it descending, not at a single 
 drop, but striking and ricocbetting from side to 
 side. 
 
 It was long before it readied the bottom and 
 lay silent. Xo matter for that. The noise made 
 in its descent told tbem of projecting points, or 
 ledges, that might give them a foothold. 
 
 They lost not a moment of time, but com- 
 menced letting themselves down into the funnel- 
 shaped shaft, the guide going first. 
 
 Slowly and silently they went down — like 
 ghosts through the stage of a theatre — soon dis- 
 appearing in the gloom below, and leaving upon 
 the rock-strewn platform no trace to show that 
 human foot had ever trodden it.
 
 CHAPTEE Vni. 
 
 IN DAEKXESS. 
 
 Fortunately for the fugitives, the cavern into 
 which they had crept was a shaft of hut slight 
 diameter; otherwise they could not have gone 
 down without dropping far enough to cause death ; 
 for the echoes from the pebhle betokened a vast 
 vertical depth. 
 
 As it was, the void turned out to he somewhat 
 like that of a stone-built chimney, with here and 
 there a point left projecting. It was so narrow, 
 moreover, that they were able to use both hands 
 and knees in the descent; and by this means 
 they accomplished it. 
 
 They went but slowly, and took care to pro- 
 ceed with caution. They knew that a false step,
 
 8o THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 the slipping of a foot or finger, or the breaking 
 of a fragment that gave hold to their hands, would 
 precipitate them to an unknown depth. 
 
 They did not go farther than was necessary for 
 quick concealment. There was noise made in their 
 descent ; and they knew that the Indians would 
 soon be above and might hear them. Their only 
 hope lay in their pursuers believing them to have 
 gone" by the left-hand path to the plain above. 
 In time the Indians would surely explore both 
 branches of the ravine; and if the cunning savages 
 should suspect their presence in the shaft, there 
 would be no hope for them. These thoughts 
 decided them to come to a stop as soon as they 
 could find foothold. 
 
 About thirty feet from the top they found this, 
 on a point of rock or ledge that jutted horizontally. 
 It was broad enough to give both fair standing-room, 
 and, as they were now in the midst of amoi-phous 
 darkness, they took stand upon it. 
 
 The Indians might at any moment arrive on 
 the platform above. They felt confident they 
 could not be seen ; but they might be heard.
 
 AV DA7^A'X£SS. 8i 
 
 The slightest sound borne upward to the ears of 
 the savages might betray them; and knowing 
 this, they stood still, scarce exchanging a whisper, 
 and almost afraid to breathe. 
 
 It was not long before they saw that which 
 justified their caution — the plumed head of a 
 savage, with his neck craned over the edge of the 
 aperture, outlined conspicuously against the blue 
 sky above. And soon half-a-dozen similar sil- 
 houettes beside it ; while they could hear distinctly 
 the talk that was passing overhead. 
 
 Wilder had some knowledge of the Comanche 
 tongue, and could make out most of what was 
 being said. Amidst exclamations that spoke of 
 vengeance, there were words in a calmer tone — 
 discussion, inquiry, and conjecture. 
 
 From these it could be understood that the 
 pursuers had separated into two parties — one 
 following on the false track, by the path which the 
 guide had baited for them, the other coming direct 
 up the right and true one. 
 
 There were bitter exclamations of disappoint- 
 ment, and threats of an implacable vengeance ; 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 and the fugitives, as tliey listened, might have re- 
 flected how fortunate they had been in finding that 
 unfathomed hole. But for it they would have al- 
 ready been in the clutches of a cruel enemy. 
 
 However, they had little time for reflection. 
 The talk overheard at first expressed doubts as 
 to their having descended the shaft ; but doubts 
 readily to be set at rest. 
 
 The eyes of the Indians having failed to inform 
 them, their heads were withdrawn ; and soon after 
 a stone came tumbling down the cavity. 
 
 Something of this kind Wilder had predicted ; 
 for he flattened himself against the wall behind, 
 and stood as ' small ' as his colossal frame would 
 permit, having cautioned his companion to do the 
 same. 
 
 The stone passed without striking them, and 
 went crashing on till it struck on the bottom below. 
 
 Another followed, and another ; the third creas- 
 ing Hamersley on the breast, and tearing a couple 
 of buttons from his coat. 
 
 This was shaving close — too close to be com- 
 fortable. Perhaps the next boulder might re-
 
 IN DARKNESS. 83 
 
 bound from the wall above, and strike one or both 
 of them dead. 
 
 In fear of this result, they commenced groping 
 to find whether the ledge offered any better screen 
 from the dangerous shower, which promised to rain 
 for some time longer. 
 
 Good ! Hamersley felt his hand enter a hole 
 that opened horizontally. It proved big enough 
 to admit his body, as also the larger frame of his 
 companion. Both were soon inside it. It was a 
 sort of grotto they had discovered ; and crouched 
 inside it, they could laugh to scorn the storm that 
 still came rattling from above, the stones hissing 
 and hurtling like aerolites as they passed close to 
 their faces. 
 
 The rocky rain at length ended. The In- 
 dians had evidently come to the conclusion, that 
 it was either barren in result, or must have ef- 
 fectually performed the purpose intended by it ; 
 and for a short time there was silence above and 
 below. 
 
 They who were hidden in the shaft might have 
 supposed that their persecutors, satisfied at what
 
 84 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 they had accomplished, were returning to the 
 plain, and had retired from the spot. 
 
 Hamersley did think so ; but Walt, an old prairie 
 man, more skilled in the Indian character, could 
 not console himself with such a fancy. 
 
 'Ne'er a bit o' it,' he whisperingly said to 
 his companion. * They ain't agoin' to leave us 
 that easy; not if Horned Lizard be amongst 'em. 
 They'll either stay thar till we climb out agin, or 
 try to smoke us. Ye may take my word for it, 
 Frank, thar's some'ut to come yit. Look up ! 
 Didn't I tell ye so ?' 
 
 Wilder drew back out of the narrow apertura 
 — through which he had been craning his neck 
 and shoulders in order to get a view of what was 
 passing above. 
 
 The hole leading into the grotto that held 
 them was barely large enough to admit the body 
 of a man. Hamersley took his place, and turning 
 his eyes upward, at once saw what his comrade 
 referred to. It was the smoke of a fire, that ap- 
 peared in the act of being kindled near the edge 
 of the aperture above. The smoke was ascending
 
 IX DARKNESS. 85 
 
 towards the sky, diagonally drifting across the 
 blue disk outlined by the rim of rock. 
 
 He had barely time to make the observation, 
 when a swishing sound admonished him to draw 
 back his head ; and there passed before his face a 
 ruck of falling stalks and fagots, in which sparks 
 and flame were commingled. Some of them set- 
 tled upon the ledge, the rest sweeping on to the 
 bottom of the abyss. 
 
 In a moment after, the shaft was filled with 
 smoke, but not that of an ordinary wood fire. 
 Even this would have been sufficient to stifle 
 them where they were ; but the fumes now enter- 
 ing their nostrils were of a kind to cause suff'oca- 
 tion almost instantaneously. 
 
 The faofots set on fire were the stalks of 
 
 o 
 
 the creosote plant — the icleodondo of the Mexican 
 table -lands, well known for its power to cause 
 asphyxia. Walt Wilder recognised it at the first 
 whiff. 
 
 * It's the stink- weed !' he exclaimed. ' That 
 darned stink-weed 0' New Mexico ! It '11 kill us 
 if we can't keep it out. Off wi' your coat, Frank ;
 
 86 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 it are bigger than mylmnting-sliirt. Let's spread 
 it acrost the hole, an' see if that '11 do.' 
 
 His companion obeyed with alacrity, stripping 
 off his coat as quickly as the circumscribed space 
 would permit. Fortunately, it was a garment of 
 the sack speciality, without any split in the tail, 
 and when extended, offered a good breadth of sur- 
 face. 
 
 It proved sufficient for the purpose ; and before 
 the little grotto had become so filled with smoke 
 as to be absolutely untenable, its entrance was 
 closed by a curtain of broadcloth, held so her- 
 metically over the aperture that even the fumes of 
 assafoetida could not possibly have penetrated 
 inside. 
 
 For nearly half an hour they kept the coat 
 spread, holding it close around the edges of the 
 aperture with their heads, hands, knees, and el- 
 bows. Withal some of the bitter smoke found in- 
 gress, torturing their eyes, and half-stifling them. 
 
 They bore it with philosophic fortitude and in 
 profound silence, using their utmost efforts to 
 refrain from sneezing or coughing.
 
 AV DARKNESS. 87 
 
 They knew that the least noise heard hy the 
 Indians ahove, anything to indicate their presence 
 in the shaft, would insure their destruction. The 
 fumigation would be continued till the savages 
 were certain of its having had a fatal effect. If 
 they could hold out long enough, even Indian 
 astuteness might be baffled. 
 
 From what Wilder had heard, their persecutors 
 were in doubt about their having descended into 
 the shaft; and this uncertainty promised to be 
 their salvation. Unless sure that they were taking 
 all this trouble to some purpose, the red-men 
 would not dally long over their work. Besides, 
 there was the rich booty to be drawn from the 
 captured wagons, which would attract the Indians 
 back to them, each having an interest in being 
 present at the distribution. 
 
 Thus reasoned Walt Wilder, as they listened 
 to detect a change in the performance — making 
 use of all their ears. 
 
 Of course they could see nothing, no more 
 than if they had been immured in the darkest cell 
 of an Inquisitorial dungeon. Only by their ears
 
 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 miglit they make any guess at what was going on. 
 These admonished them that more of the burning 
 brush was being heaved into the hole. Every now 
 and then they could hear it as it went swishing^ 
 past the door of their curtained chamber, the 
 stalks and sticks rasping against the rocks in their 
 descent. 
 
 After a time these sounds ceased to be heard ; 
 the Indians no doubt thinking that sufficient of 
 the inflammatory matter had been cast in to cause 
 their complete destruction. If inside the cavern, 
 they must by this time be stifled — asphyxiated — 
 dead. 
 
 So must have reasoned the red-skinned fumi- 
 gators ; for after a while they desisted from their 
 hellish task. But as if to make assurance doubly 
 sure, before taking departure from the spot they 
 performed another act indicative of an equally mer- 
 ciless intention. 
 
 During the short period of silence their victims 
 could not tell what they were about. They only 
 knew, by occasional sounds reaching them from 
 above, that there was some change in the perform-^
 
 IN DARKNESS. 89 
 
 auce ; but what it was, they could not even shape 
 a conjecture. 
 
 The interregnum at length ended with a loud 
 rumbling noise, that was itself suddenly termi- 
 nated by a grand crash, as if a portion of the im- 
 pending cliff had become detached, and fallen down 
 upon the platform. 
 
 Then succeeded a silence, unbroken by the 
 slightest sound. No longer was heard either noise 
 or voice — not the murmur of one. 
 
 It was a silence that resembled death : as if the 
 vindictive savages had one and all met a deserved 
 doom, by being crushed under the falling cliff ! 
 
 For some time after hearing this mysterious 
 noise, which had caused the rock to tremble around 
 them, the two men remained motionless within 
 their place of concealment. 
 
 At length Wilder cautiously and deliberately 
 pushed aside the curtain. At first only a small 
 portion of it — a corner, so as to make sure about 
 the smoke. 
 
 It still oozed in, but not voluminously as at first. 
 It had evidently become attenuated, and was grow-
 
 90 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 ing thinner. It appeared also to be ascending 
 with rapidity, as up the funnel of a chimney having 
 a good draught. For this reason it was carried 
 past the mouth of the grotto, without much of it 
 drifting in, and they saw that they could soon 
 safely withdraw the curtain. It was a welcome 
 relaxation from the irksome task that had been so 
 long imposed upon them — and the coat was at 
 length permitted to drop down upon the ledge. 
 
 Although there were no longer any sounds 
 heard, or other signs to indicate the presence of 
 the Indians, the fugitives did not feel sure of their 
 having gone; and it was some time before they 
 made any attempt to reascend the shaft. Some 
 of their pursuers might still be lurking near, or 
 straying within sight. They had so far escaped 
 death, as if by a miracle, and they were cautious 
 of again tempting fate. They determined that for 
 some time yet they would not venture out upon the 
 ledge, but keep inside the grotto that had given 
 them such well-timed shelter. Some sulky savage, 
 disappointed at not getting their scalps, might 
 take it into his head to return, and hurl down into
 
 /.V DARKXESS. 91 
 
 the hole another shower of stones. Such a whim 
 was probable to a j)rairie Indian. 
 
 Cautious against all like contingencies, the 
 guide counselled his younger companion to pati- 
 ence ; and for a considerable time they remained 
 without stirring out of their obscure chamber. 
 
 At length, however, percei\ing that the tran- 
 quillity continued, they no longer deemed it rash 
 to make a reconnoissance ; and for this purpose 
 Walt Wilder crawled out upon the ledge, and 
 looked upward. 
 
 A feeling of surprise, mingled with apprehen- 
 sion, at once seized upon him. 
 
 ' Kin it be night ?' he asked, whispering the 
 words back into the grotto. 
 
 ' Not yet, I should think,' answered Hamers- 
 ley. ' The fight was begun before daybreak. The 
 day can't all have passed yet. But why do you 
 ask, Walt ?' 
 
 * Because thar's no light comin' from above. 
 Whar's the bit 0' blue sky we seed ? Thar ain't 
 the breadth 0' a hand visible. It can't a be the 
 smoke as hides it. ■ That seems most cleared off.
 
 92 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 Darned if I kin see a steim o' the sky ! 'Bove 
 as below, everything's as black as the ten o' 
 spades. What the darnation kin it mean ?' 
 
 Without waiting a reply, or staying for his 
 companion to come out upon the ledge, Wilder 
 rose to his feet, and grasping the projecting points 
 above his head, commenced swarming up the shaft, 
 in a similar manner as that by which he had made 
 the descent. 
 
 Hamersley, who by this time had crept out of 
 the grotto, stood upon the ledge listening. 
 
 He could hear his comrade as he scrambled 
 up ; the rasping of his feet against the rocks, and 
 his stentorian breathings. 
 
 At length Walt appeared to have reached the 
 top, when Hamersley heard words that sent a 
 thrill of horror throughout his whole frame. 
 
 * God !' cried the guide, in his surprise for- 
 getting to subdue the tone of his voice, they've 
 built us up ! Thar's a stone over the mouth o' 
 the hole — shettin' it like a pot-lid. A stone ! — a 
 rock that no mortal ked move. Frank Hamers- 
 ley ! it's all over wi' us : Kc're buried alive /'
 
 9^f 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A SAVAGE SATURNAL. 
 
 The sanguinaiy strife ended witli the capture of 
 the caravan. When the smoke of the extinguished 
 fires drifted aside, and the sunlight once more fell 
 free upon the wagons, a horrible picture was pre- 
 sented. 
 
 Within the corral lay the bodies of thirteen 
 white men, their heads without hair, and the 
 croTMi of each showing a disk of crimson colour. 
 The scalping -knife had already done its bloody 
 work; and the hideous trophies were seen droop- 
 ing from the points of spears triumphantly poised 
 by the savage victors. 
 
 Their triumph had cost them dear. On the 
 plain outside, and around the captured wagons, at 
 least thirty of their own lay dead upon the sand ;
 
 94 THE LONE RANG HE, 
 
 while a group here and there, hending oyer some 
 recumbent form, told of a warrior wounded. 
 
 A band of twenty or thirty braves had gone in 
 pursuit of the two whites who had escaped. Those 
 who remained, at once set about collecting the 
 corpses of their slain comrades, with the intent to 
 inter them ; while the bodies of their butchered 
 enemies were submitted to still farther mutilation. 
 A resistance unexpected, causing them such griev- 
 ous loss, had roused their vengeance to the point 
 of exasperation ; and they could only expend it 
 upon corpses. These were slashed and hacked 
 with tomahawks, pierced with spears and arrows, 
 beaten with war-clubs, and dragged at the tails of 
 horses. It was a spectacle of fiendish spite — un- 
 like anything that might be supposed to occur 
 upon earth — only to be compared to a scene in 
 the infernal regions, with demons for the dramatis 
 personce. 
 
 The party that had gone off in pursuit, after 
 a time returned. They did not bring either cap- 
 tives or scalps ; but their report was satisfactory. 
 They had followed the fugitives first to the upper
 
 A SAVAGE SATURNAL. 95 
 
 plain. They could not have escaped in that way, 
 as they would have been seen for miles off, and 
 there was not time for them to have retreated to 
 such distance. They had then got upon the true 
 trail, and found the hole in the rocks, where the 
 two men must have taken shelter. No one had 
 dared to go into it. That would have been like 
 attacking a grizzly bear in its den. But they had 
 sent down stones to do the deadly work; and if 
 these failed, the smoke of the ideodondo must have 
 finished it. To make sure, however, they had 
 rolled a stone over the aperture of the cavern, 
 closing it up for ever. Twenty men had laid their 
 shoulders to it, and there was no fear that two 
 could ever remove it from its place. Living or 
 dead, the white men would never more be seen 
 upon the earth. 
 
 So reported the returned party of pursuers. 
 
 A scene next ensued in which the grotesque 
 and terrible were strangely commingled. The 
 plunder of the wagons began, and with it the dis- 
 tribution of the goods. Some of these had been 
 destroyed or damaged by the fires ; but there was
 
 96 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 still fifty thousand dollars' worth left to satisfy 
 the cupidity of the spoilers. They consisted of 
 assorted merchandise : some hardware, in the 
 shape of knives, daggers, and pistols ; some mir- 
 rors and bijouterie; but chiefly cotton -prints of 
 attractive colours and patterns, along with a con- 
 siderable quantity of silken stuffs and laces, for 
 the dames of El Paso, Chihuahua, and Durango. 
 The partition was not equal to all. The goods, 
 when taken out of the wagons, were first separated 
 into three portions of like value. One of these 
 was distributed in equal allotments to each of the 
 common braves of the band. A second was re- 
 served for the chief ; while the third — by a sort of 
 tacit consent, as if from previous understanding 
 — became the property of a man who was neither 
 a brave nor chief, but seemed to hold authority 
 over both. This man differed from the others, 
 not by the dress he wore — for he was in complete 
 Indian costume — nor yet by the colour of his skin, 
 for he was bronze-black like the rest. The dis- 
 tinction lay in his having hair on his face — in 
 fact a full beard, with large side whiskers.
 
 A SAVAGE SATURN AL. 97 
 
 • After all, this circumstance could not be consi- 
 dered so strange in a band of Comancbe or Apache 
 Indians, among whom there are many men with 
 Spanish-American blood in their veins — some in- 
 deed Mexicans themselves — prisoners who from 
 necessity have become affiliated to the tribe, or 
 outlawed criminals, who, finding savage life con- 
 genial, have taken to it from choice. 
 
 There were two or three others among the 
 captors of the caravan who also had hair upon 
 their face, though none so fully furnished with the 
 Caucasian sign of \irility as the personage to whom 
 was appropriated a share of the spoils equalling 
 that of the chief. 
 
 The conduct of this man was in other respects 
 signally mysterious. In the fight he had taken no 
 part, standing at a safe distance as a spectator ; 
 or only now and then lending the aid of his coun- 
 sel, imparted in muttered voice to the chief. 
 
 When the conflict was ended, and the caravan 
 in possession of the victors, he had displayed 
 more energy in assisting to extinguish the fires. 
 This having been accomplished, he was seen to 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 stoop over the bodies of the whites who had fallen, 
 passing from one to the other, and giving each 
 an examination, as if in their ghastly features he 
 expected to identify some old enemy. From all, 
 however, one after the other, he seemed to turn 
 away disappointed. 
 
 Another act on the part of this personage of 
 like strange and mysterious seeming: after the 
 pursuing party had returned and made report, as 
 if to assure himself of its correctness, he started 
 off toward the ravine up which the chase had 
 gone. He entered the chine, clambering over the 
 carcass of Wilder' s horse, still there ; and keeping 
 on up the gorge, reached the platform penetrated 
 by the shaft -like cavern. He saw where the 
 huge boulder had been displaced from its bed ; 
 and after going around the rock, and on all sides 
 examining it, as if to assure himself that the 
 aperture was all covered, he stood for some time 
 with a grim smile of satisfaction playing upon his 
 savage features. 
 
 Then, giving an ejaculatory grunt, and mut- 
 tsring a word or two that sounded like Spanish,
 
 A SAVAGE SATURNAL. 99 
 
 he turned away from the spot, and retraced his 
 steps to the plain. All this occurred before the 
 partition of the spoils. When the distribution was 
 complete, and each warrior had appropriated his 
 own share, a new scene was enacted, in which the 
 grotesque held a predominant share. 
 
 There was a barrel of Monangahela whisky in 
 one of the wagons, still more than half filled with 
 the white man's fire-water. It also was distri- 
 buted, and soon found its way down the throats, 
 of the savages. Two-thirds of the band instantly 
 became intoxicated. Some of them were dead 
 drunk, and lay sleeping upon the sand. Others 
 of stronger stomach or more excitable brain kept 
 their feet, or rather did they forsake them by 
 springing to the backs of their horses. 
 
 A sort of frenzied frolic seemed to seize hold 
 of them. They forgot their slain comrades, yet 
 unburied ; and careering around at full gallop, 
 with the scalps of the white men poised upon 
 their spears, they whooped and shouted and 
 laughed, till the clifi's echoed back the sounds of 
 their demoniac mii-th.
 
 lOO THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Some fastened the ends of pieces of cotton 
 goods to the tails of their horses. Then spurred 
 out upon the plain, till the pieces, unwinding them- 
 selves, flouted like streamers behind. Sometimes 
 two horsemen would each take an end of the same 
 piece, and tie it to the tail of his own steed. The 
 two would then gallop in opposite directions, until 
 the pluck came, and the strip of print would be 
 torn apart, wherever it was weakest. He who held 
 the larger share would be the winner, with the 
 Tight to appropriate the whole piece. 
 
 It was an original species of gambling — a rare 
 riot — a true saturnal of savages.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A LIVING TOMB. 
 
 Literally buried alive, as Walt Wilder had ex- 
 pressed it, were lie and his companion. 
 
 They now understood what had caused the 
 strange noise that mystified them — the rumb- 
 ling followed by a crash. No accidental cUhdcle or 
 falling of a portion of the cliff, as they had been 
 half supposing ; but a deed of diabolical design — 
 a huge rock rolled by the united strength of the 
 savages, until it rested over the orifice of the shaft, 
 completely coping and closing it. 
 
 It may have been done without any certain 
 knowledge of their being inside — only to make 
 things sure. It mattered not to the two men 
 thus cruelly enclosed ; for they knew that in any
 
 I02 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 case there was no hope of their being rescued 
 from what they now believed to be a living tomb. 
 
 That it was such, neither could doubt. The 
 guide, gifted with a herculean strength, had tried 
 to move the stone on discovering how it lay. 
 With his feet firmly planted in the projections 
 below, and his shoulder to the rock above, he 
 had given a heave that would have lifted a loaded 
 wagon from its wheels. 
 
 The stone did not budge with all this exer- 
 tion. There was not so much as motion. He 
 might as successfully have made trial to move a 
 mountain from its base. He did not try again. 
 He remembered the rock itself. He had noticed 
 it while they were searching for a place to conceal 
 themselves, and had been struck with its immense 
 size. No one man could have stirred it from its 
 place. It must have taken at least twenty Indians. 
 No matter how many, they had succeeded in 
 their design, and their victims were now help- 
 lessly enclosed in the dark catacomb — slowly, de- 
 spairingly to perish. 
 
 * All up wi' us I reck'n,' said the guide, as he
 
 A LIVING TOMB. 103 
 
 once more let himself down upon the ledge to 
 communicate the particulars to his companion. 
 
 Hamersley ascended to see for himself. They 
 could only go one at a time. He examined the 
 edge of the orifice where the rock rested upon 
 it. He could only do so by the touch. Not a 
 ray of light came in on any side, and groping 
 round and round he could detect neither cre- 
 vice nor void. There were weeds and grass, still 
 warm and smouldering, the debris of what had 
 been set on fire for their fumigation. The rock 
 rested on a bedding of these. Hence the exact 
 fit, closing every crack and crevice. 
 
 On completing his exploration, Hamersley re- 
 turned to his companion below. 
 
 * Hopeless !' muttered Wilder despondingly. 
 
 ' No, Walt, I don't think so yet.' 
 
 The Kentuckian, though young, was a man 
 of remarkable intelligence as well as courage. It 
 needed these qualities to be a prairie merchant — 
 one who commanded a caravan. Wilder knew him 
 to be possessed of them — in the last of them 
 equalling himself, in the first far excelling him.
 
 104 THE LONE RAXCHE. 
 
 * You think thar's a chance for us to git out 
 o' hyar ?' he said interrogatively. 
 
 * I think there is ; and a likely one.' 
 
 * Good ! What leads ye to think so, Frank?' 
 
 ' Keach me my bowie. It's behind you there 
 in the cave.' 
 
 "Wilder did as requested. 
 
 * It will depend a good deal upon what sort of 
 rock this is around us. It isn't flint, anyhow. I 
 take it to be either lime or sandstone. If so, we 
 needn't stay here — much longer than it would be 
 safe to go out again among those blood-thirsty 
 savages.' 
 
 * How do you mean, Frank ? Darn me if I 
 yet understan' ye !' 
 
 * It's very simple, Walt. If this cliif rock be 
 only sandstone, or some other substance equally 
 soft, we may cut our way out — under the big stone.' 
 
 *Ha! I didn't think o' thet. Thar's good 
 sense in that ye say.' 
 
 *It has a softish feel,' said the Kentuckian, 
 as he drew his hand across one of the project- 
 ing points. ' I wish I only had two inches of a
 
 i LIVING TOMB. lo: 
 
 candle. However, I think I can make my e.xplo- 
 ration in the dark.' 
 
 There was a short moment of silence, after 
 which was heard a clinking sound, as of a knife- 
 blade being repeatedly struck against a stone. It 
 was Hamersley with his bowie chipping off a 
 piece from the rock, that projected from the side 
 of the shaft. 
 
 The sound was pleasant to the Kentuckian's 
 ear, for it was not the hard metallic ring given out 
 by quartz or granite. On the contrary, the steel 
 struck against it with a dull dead echo, and he 
 could feel that the point of the knife easily im- 
 pinged upon it. 
 
 ' Sandstone,' he said, ' or something that "11 
 serve our purpose equally as well. Yes, Walt, 
 there's a good chance for us to get out of this 
 ugly prison; so keep up your heart, comrade. It 
 may cost us a couple of days' quarrying. Per- 
 haps all the better for that ; the Indians are 
 pretty sure to keep about the wagons for a day 
 or so. They'll find enough there to amuse them. 
 Our work will depend a good deal on what sort of
 
 io6 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 a stoue they've rolled over the hole. You remem- 
 ber what size the boulder was ?' 
 
 ' 'Twas a largish pebble ; looked to me least 
 ten feet every way. It sort o' serprize me how the 
 skunks ked a - budged it. I reck'n 'twar on a 
 coggle, an' rolled eezy. It must a tuk the hul 
 clanjamfry o' them.' 
 
 *If we only knew the right edge to begin 
 at. For that we must go by guess-work. Well, we 
 mustn't lose time, but set about our stone-cutting 
 at once. Every hour will be taking the strength 
 out of us. I only came down for the bowie to 
 make beginning. I'll make trial at it first, and 
 then we take turn and turn about.' 
 
 Provided with his knife, the Kentuckian again 
 climbed up ; and soon after, the guide heard a 
 crinkling sound, succeeded by the rattling of 
 pieces of rock, as they got detached and came 
 showering down. 
 
 To save his crown, now uncovered by the loss 
 of both kerchief and cap, he crept back into the 
 alcove that had originally protected them 'from 
 the stones cast in by the Indians. Along with
 
 A LIVING TOMB. 107 
 
 the splinters something else came i^ast Walt's 
 face, making a soft rustling sound ; it had a smell 
 also, that told what it was — the ' cussed stink- 
 weed.' 
 
 From the falling fragments, their size and 
 number, he could tell that his comrade was mak- 
 ing good way. 
 
 Walt longed to relieve him at his work, and 
 called up a request to this -end ; but Hamersley 
 returned a refusal, speaking in a cautious tone, 
 lest his voice might be borne out to the ear of 
 some savage still lingering near. 
 
 For over an hour Wilder waited below, now and 
 then casting impatient glances upward. They 
 were only mechanical ; for of course he could see 
 nothing. But they were anxious withal, for the 
 success of his comrade's scheme was yet problem- 
 atical. 
 
 With sufficient food and drink to sustain them, 
 they might in time accomplish what they had set 
 about ; but wanting these, their strength would soon 
 give way, and then — ah ! then — 
 
 The guide was still standing on the ledge, pur-
 
 lo8 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 suing this or a similar train of reflection, when 
 all at once a sight came, not under hut ahove his 
 eyes, which caused him to utter an exclamation 
 of joy. 
 
 It was the sight of his comrade's face — only 
 that! 
 
 But this had in it a world of significance. He 
 could not have seen that face without liglit. Light 
 had heen let into their rock-hound ahode, so late 
 buried in the profoundest darkness. 
 
 It was but a feeble glimmer, that appeared to 
 have found admission through a tiny crevice under 
 the huge copestone ; and -Hamersley's face, close 
 to it, was seen only in faint shadow — fainter from 
 the film of smoke yet struggling up the shaft. 
 
 Still was it light — beautiful cheering light — 
 like some shore-beacon seen by the storm-tossed 
 mariner amid the dangers of a night-shrouded sea. 
 
 Hamersley had not yet spoken word to explain 
 what had occurred to cause it. He had suddenly 
 left off chipping the rock, and was at rest, appa- 
 rently in contemplation of the soft silvery ray that 
 was playing so benignly upon his features.
 
 A LIVING TOMB. 109 
 
 Was it the pleasure of once more beholding 
 what he late thought he might never see again — 
 the light of day? Was it this alone that was keep- 
 ing him still and speechless ? 
 
 No, something else ; as he told his comrade 
 when he rejoined him soon after on the ledge. 
 
 'Wait,' he said, 'I've let daylight in, as you 
 see; but I find it '11 take a long time to cut a pass- 
 age out. It's only the weeds I've been able to 
 get clear of. The big rock runs over at least five 
 feet, and the stone turns out harder than I thought 
 for.' 
 
 These were not cheering words to Walt Wilder. 
 
 ' But,' continued Hamersley, his speech 
 changing to a more hopeful tone, ' I've noticed 
 something that may serve better still; perhaps 
 save us all the quarrying. I don't know whether 
 I'm right ; but we shall soon see.' 
 
 ' \^Tiat hev ye noticed ?' was the question put 
 by Wilder. 
 
 ' You see there's still some smoke around us.' 
 
 * Yes, Frank, my eyes tell me that plain enuf. 
 I've nigh rubbed 'em out 0' thar sockets.'
 
 no THE LOXE RAXCHE. 
 
 ' ^Yell, as soon as I had scooped out the crack 
 that let in the daylight, I noticed that the smoke 
 rushed out as if Wasted through a pair of hellows. 
 That shows there's a draught coming up. It 
 can only come from some aperture below, acting 
 as a furnace or the funnel of a chimney. We 
 must try to get down to the bottom, and see if 
 there's such a thing. If there be, who knows but 
 it may be big enough to let us out of our prison, 
 without having to carve our way through the walls ; 
 which, I feel certain, would take us several days. 
 We must try to get down to the bottom.' 
 
 To accede to this request the guide needed no 
 urging; and both — one after the other — at once 
 commenced descending. 
 
 They found no great difficulty in getting down, 
 any more than they had already experienced; for 
 the shaft continued all the way of nearly the same 
 width, and very similar to what it was above the 
 ledge. Near the bottom, however, it became ab- 
 ruptly wider by the recession of the walls. They 
 were now in a dilemma; for they had reached a 
 point where they could go no farther without
 
 A LIVING TOMB. 
 
 dropping off. It might be ten feet — it might be a 
 hundred ; in any case enough to make the peril 
 appalling. 
 
 Wilder had gone first, and soon bethought 
 himself of a test. He unslung his powder-horn, 
 and permitted it to drop from his hand, listening 
 attentively. It made scarce any noise ; still he 
 could hear it striking against something soft. It 
 was the brush thrown in by the Indians. This 
 did not seem far below ; and the half-burnt stalks 
 would be something to break their fall. 
 
 ' I'll chance it,' said Walt ; and almost simul- 
 taneous with his words was heard the bump of his 
 heavy body alighting on the litter below. 
 
 ' Ye may jump without fear, Frank. 'Tain't 
 over six feet in the clar.' 
 
 Hamersley obeyed, and soon both stood at the 
 bottom of the chimney — on the hearthstone where 
 the stalks of the creosote still smouldered.
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 OFF AT LAST. 
 
 Ox touching terra firma, and finding plenty of 
 space around, they scrambled from off the pile of 
 loose stones and stalks cast down by the Indians, 
 and commenced groping their way about. Again 
 touching the firm surrounding of rock, they groped 
 searchingly along it. 
 
 They were not long engaged in their game of 
 blind-man's buff, when the necessity of trusting to 
 the touch came abruptly to an end — as if the hand- 
 kerchief had been suddenly jerked from their eyes. 
 The change was caused by a light streaming in 
 through a side gallery into which they had strayed. 
 It was at first dim and distant, but soon shone 
 upon them with the brilliance of a flambeau. 
 
 Following the passage through which it guided
 
 OFF AT LAST. 113 
 
 them, they reached an aperture of irregular round- 
 ish shape, about the size of the cloister window of a 
 convent. They saw at once that it was big enough 
 to allow the passage of their bodies. They saw too 
 that it was admitting the sunbeams — admonishing 
 them that it was still far from night. 
 
 They had brought all their traps down along 
 with them — their knives and pistols, with Hamers- 
 ley's gun still carefully kept. But they hesitated 
 about going out. There could be no difficulty in 
 their doing so ; for there was a ledge less than 
 three feet under the aperture, upon which they 
 could find footing. It was not that which caused 
 them to hesitate, but the fear of again falling into 
 the hands of their implacable enemies. 
 
 That these were still upon the plain they 
 had evidence. They could hear their yells and 
 whooping, mingled with peals of wild demon-like 
 laughter. It was at the time when the fire-water 
 was in the ascendant, and the savages were playing 
 their merry game with the pieces of despoiled 
 cotton goods. 
 
 There was danger in going out, but there might 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 ^H^ LONE RANCHE. 
 
 be more in staying in. The savages might return 
 upon their search, and discover this other entrance 
 to the vault. In that case they would take still 
 greater pains to close it, and besiege the two 
 fugitives to the point of starvation. 
 
 Both were eager to escape from a place they 
 had lately looked upon as a living tomb. 
 
 Still they dared not venture out of it. They 
 could not retreat by the plain, so long as the In- 
 dians were upon it. At night perhaps, in the 
 darkness, they might? Hamersley suggested this. 
 
 'No,' said Walt, *nor at night eyther. It's 
 moon-time, you know ; an' them sharp-eyed Injuns 
 niver all goes to sleep thegither. On that sand 
 they'd see us in the moonlight, 'most as plain as 
 in the day. Ef we wait at all, we'll hev to stay till 
 they go clar off.' 
 
 Wilder, while speaking, stood close to the 
 aperture, looking cautiously out. At that mo- 
 ment craning his neck to a greater stretch, so as 
 to command a better view of what lay below, his 
 eye caught sight of an object that elicited an ex- 
 clamation of surprise.
 
 OFF AT LAST. 115 
 
 'Darn it!' he said, * thar's my old clout lyin' 
 down thar on the rocks.' 
 
 It was the red kerchief he had plucked from 
 his head to put the pursuers on the wrong track. 
 
 * It's jest war I flinged it,' he continued; *I 
 kin recognise the place. That guUy, then, must 
 be the one we didn't go up.' 
 
 Walt spoke the truth. The decoy was still in 
 the place where he had set it. The square of soiled 
 and faded cotton had failed to tempt the cupidity 
 of the savages, who knew that in the wagons they 
 had captured were hundreds of such, clean and 
 new — with far richer spoil besides. 
 
 * S'pose we still try thet path, Frank. It 
 may lead us to the top arter all. If they've been 
 up it, they've long ago gone down agin; I kin 
 tell by thar yelpin' around the wagons. They've 
 got holt o' our corn afore this ; an' won't be so 
 sharp in lookin' arter us.' 
 
 'Agreed,' said Hamersley. 
 
 Without farther delay the two scrambled out 
 through the aperture, and creeping along the ledge, 
 once more stood in the hollow of the ravine, at
 
 ii6 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 the point of its separation into the forks that 
 had perplexed them in their ascent. Perhaps, 
 after all, they had chosen the right one. At the 
 time of their first flight, had they succeeded in 
 reaching the plain above, they would surely have 
 been seen and pursued; though with superior swift- 
 ness of foot they might still have escaped. 
 
 Once more they faced upward, by the slope of 
 the ravine yet untried. 
 
 On passing it, Walt laid hold of his ' clout' 
 as he called it, and replaced it turban fashion on 
 his head. 
 
 '■ I only weesh,' he said, * I ked as convenient 
 rekiver my rifle; an' darn me, but I would try 
 ef it war only thar still. It ain't, I know. Thet 
 air piece is too preecious for a Injun to pass it. 
 It's gone back to the wagons.' 
 
 They could now more distinctly hear the shouts 
 of their despoilers ; and as they continued the 
 ascent, the rent or chine in the cliff opened be- 
 tween them and the plain, giving them a glimpse 
 of what was there going on. 
 
 They could see the savages — some on foot,
 
 OFF AT LAST. 117 
 
 others on horseback — the latter careering round, 
 as if engaged in a tournament, traihng like rib- 
 bons behind their horses long strips of cotton 
 prints, the produce of the mills of Lowell and 
 Manchester. 
 
 They saw they were roistering, wild with tri- 
 umph, and maddened with drink — the fire-water 
 they had found in the wagons. 
 
 * Though they be drunk, we mustn't stay hyar 
 so nigh 'em,' muttered Walt. ^I allers like to 
 put space atween me an' sech as them. They 
 mout git some whimsey into their heads, an' come 
 this ways. They'll take any amount o' trouble to 
 raise har ; and they may be grievin' thet they hain't 
 got ourn yit, an' mout think they'd hev another 
 try for it. As the night's boun' to be a mooner, 
 we can't git too far from 'em. So let's on as 
 quick's we kin.' 
 
 * On, then ! ' said Hamersley, assenting ; and 
 the next moment the two were rapidly ascending 
 the gorge ; Wilder leading the way. 
 
 This time they were more fortunate. The 
 ravine sloped on up to the summit of the clifi',
 
 ii8 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 debouching upon a level plain. They reached 
 this without passing any point that could bring 
 them under the eyes of the Indians. 
 
 They could still hear the shouts of triumph 
 and wild revelry; but as they receded from the 
 crest of the cliff, these grew fainter and fainter, 
 until they found themselves fleeing over an open 
 tableland, bounded above by the sky, all around 
 them still as death — still as the heart of a de- 
 sert.
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 
 
 On the day after the capture of the caravan, the 
 Indians, having consumed all the whisky found 
 in the wagons, and become comparatively sober, 
 prepared to move off. 
 
 The captured goods, made up into convenient 
 parcels, were packed upon mules and spare horses, 
 of which they had plenty, having come prepared for 
 such a sequel to their attack upon the travellers. 
 
 The warriors having given interment to their 
 dead comrades, leaving the scalped and mutil- 
 ated corpses of the white men to the vultures and 
 wolves, mounted and marched off. 
 
 Before leaving the scene of the sanguinary 
 exploit, they had drawn the wagons into a close 
 clump, and set fire to them ; partly from a wanton
 
 120 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 instinct of destruction ; partly from the pleasure 
 of beholding a great bonfire ; but also with some 
 thought that it might be as well thus to blot out 
 all the traces of a tragedy, for which the Ameri- 
 cans — of whom even these freebooters felt dread — 
 might some day call them to account. 
 
 They did not all go together, but separated 
 into two parties on the spot where they had passed 
 the night. They were parties, howeyer, of yery 
 unequal size, one of them numbering only four 
 indiyiduals. 
 
 The other, which constituted the main body of 
 the plunderers, was, as Walt Wilder had rightly 
 conjectured, a band of the middle Comanches, 
 known as the Tenawas, under their chief the 
 Horned Lizard. These turning eastward struck 
 off towards the head waters of the Big Witchita, 
 upon which and its tributaries lie their customary' 
 roving-grounds. 
 
 The lesser party went off in almost the oppo- 
 site direction, south-westerly, leaving the Llano 
 Estacado on their left ; and journeying on, cros- 
 sed the Rio Pecos at a point below and outside
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE PLUXDERERS. 121 
 
 the farthest frontier settlement of New Mexico 
 towards the prairies. Then, shaping their course 
 nearly due south, they skirted the spurs of the 
 Sierra Blanca, that in this latitude extend east 
 towards the Pecos. 
 
 On arriving near the place kno\NTi as Gran 
 Quiyira — where once stood a prosperous Spanish 
 town devoted to gathering gold, now only a ruin, 
 scarce traceable, and altogether without record — 
 they again changed their course, almost zigzag- 
 ing back in a north-westerly direction. They were 
 making towards a depression seen in the Sierra 
 Blanca, as if with the intention to cross the moun- 
 tains toward the valley of the Del Norte. They 
 might have reached the valley without this cir- 
 cumambience — by a trail well known and often 
 travelled. But it appeared as if this was just 
 what they desired to avoid. 
 
 One of the men composing this party was he 
 already remarked upon as having a large beard and 
 whiskers. A second was one of those spoken of 
 as more slightly furnished with these appendages ; 
 while the other two were beardless.
 
 122 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 All four were of deep bronze complexion, and 
 to all appearance pure-blooded aboriginals. That 
 the two with hirsute sign spoke to one another in 
 Spanish was no sure evidence of their not being 
 Indians. It was within the limits of New Mexican 
 territory, where there are many Indians who con- 
 verse in Castilian, as an ordinary language. 
 
 He with the whiskered cheeks, the chief of the 
 quartette, as weU as the tallest of them, had not 
 left behind the share of the plunder that had been 
 allotted to him. It was still in his train, borne 
 on the backs of seven strong mules heavily loaded. 
 These formed an a?a/o, or pack-train, guided and 
 driven by the two beardless men of the party, who 
 seemed to understand mule-driving as thoroughly 
 as if they had been trained to the calling of the 
 arriero — and perhaps so had they been. 
 
 The other two took no trouble with the pack- 
 animals, but rode on in front, conversing sans 
 sauci, and in a somewhat jocular vein. 
 
 The heavily-bearded man was astride a splendid 
 black horse ; not a Mexican mustang, like that of 
 his companions, but a large sinewy animal, that
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 123 
 
 showed the breed of Kentucky. And so should 
 he — since he was the same steed Frank Hamersley 
 had been compelled to leave behind in that rapid 
 rush into the crevice of the cliff. 
 
 * This time, Roblez, we've made a pretty fair 
 haul of it,' remarked he who bestrode the black. 
 ' What with the silks and laces — to say nothing of 
 this splendid mount between my legs — I think I 
 may say that our time has not been thrown away.' 
 
 * Yours hasn't, anyhow. My share won't be 
 much.' 
 
 ' Come, come, teniente ! don't talk in that 
 way. You should be satisfied with a share pro- 
 portioned to your rank. Besides, you must re- 
 member the man who puts down the stake has the 
 right to draw the winnings. But for me there 
 would have been no spoils to share. Isn't it so ?' 
 
 This truth seeming to produce an impression 
 on Roblez' mind, he made response in the affir- 
 mative. 
 
 * Well, I'm glad you acknowledge it,' pursued 
 the rider of the black. 'Let there be no dis- 
 putes between us ; for you know, Roblez, we can't
 
 124 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 afford to quarrel. You shall have a liberal per- 
 centage on this lucky venture ; I promise it. By 
 the bye, how much do you think the plunder 
 ought to realise ?' 
 
 * Well,' responded Koblez, restored to a cheer- 
 ful humour, ' if properly disposed of in El Paso or 
 Chihuahua, the lot ought to fetch from fifteen to 
 twenty thousand dollars. I see some silk- velvet 
 among the stuff that would sell high, if you could 
 get it shown to the rich damsels of Durango or 
 Zacatecas. One thing sure, you've got a good 
 third of the caravan stock.' 
 
 * Ha ! ha ! More than half of it, in value. 
 The Horned Lizard went in for hiiUi. I let him 
 have it to his heart's content. He thinks more 
 of those cheap cotton prints, with their red and 
 green and yellow flowers, than all the silk .ever 
 spun since the days of Mother Eve. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha!' 
 
 The laugh, in which Koblez heartily joined, 
 was still echoing on the air as the two horsemen 
 entered a pass leading through the mountains. 
 It was the depression in the sierra, seen shortly
 
 DEPARTURE OE THE PLUNDERERS. 125 
 
 after parting with the Horned Lizard and his 
 band. It was a pass rugged with rock, and almost 
 trackless, here and there winding about, and some- 
 times continued through canons or clefts barely- 
 wide enough to give way to the mules with the 
 load^ upon their backs. 
 
 For all this the animals of the travellers 
 seemed to journey along it without difficulty; only 
 the American horse showing signs of awkward- 
 ness. All the others went as if they had trodden 
 it before. 
 
 For several hours they kept on through this 
 series of canons and gorges — here and there cross- 
 ing a transverse ridge, that, cutting off a bend, 
 shortened the distance. 
 
 Just before sunset the party came to a halt ; 
 not in the defile itself, but in one of still more 
 rugged aspect that led laterally into the side of 
 the mountain. In this there was no trace or sign 
 of travel — no appearance of its having ever been 
 entered by man or animal. 
 
 Yet the horse ridden by Roblez, and the pack- 
 mules coming after, entered with as free a step as
 
 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 if going into a well-known enclosure. True, the 
 chief of the party, mounted on the Kentucky 
 steed, had gone in before them ; though this scarce 
 accounted for their confidence. 
 
 Up this unknown gorge they rode, until they 
 had reached its end. There was no outlet, for it 
 was a cul-de-sac — a natural court — such as are 
 often found among the amygdaloidal mountains 
 of Mexico. 
 
 At its extremity, where it narrowed to a width 
 of about fifty feet, lay a huge boulder of gi-anite 
 that appeared to block up the path ; though there 
 was a clear space between it and the cliff rising 
 vertically behind it. 
 
 The obstruction was only apparent, and did 
 not cause the leading savage of the party to make 
 even a temporary stop. At one side there was an 
 opening large enough to permit the passage of a 
 horse; and into this he rode, Koblez following, 
 and also the mules in a string, one after the other. 
 
 Behind the boulder was an open space of a 
 few square yards, of extent sufficient to allow 
 room for turning a horse. The savage chief
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 127 
 
 wheeled his steed, and headed him direct for the 
 cliff; not with the design gf dashing his brains 
 against the rock, but to force him into a cavern, 
 whose entrance showed its disk in the fagade of 
 the precipice, dark and dismal as the door of an 
 Inquisitorial prison. 
 
 The horse snorted, and shied back ; but the 
 ponderous Mexican spur, with its long sharp 
 rowel-points, soon drove him in ; whither he was 
 followed by the mustang ofEoblez and the mules — 
 the latter going in as unconcernedly as if entering 
 a stable whose stalls were familiar to them.
 
 CHAPTEK Xin. 
 
 A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 It was well on in the afternoon of the following 
 day before the four spoil-laden savages, who had 
 sought shelter in the cave, again showed them- 
 selves outside. Then came they filing forth, one 
 after the other, in the same order as they had en- 
 tered ; but so changed in appearance, that no one 
 seeing them come out of the cavern could by any 
 possibility have recognised them as the same men 
 who had the night before gone into it. Even 
 their animals had undergone some transformation. 
 The horses were differently caparisoned ; the flat 
 American saddle having been removed from the 
 back of the grand Kentucky steed, and replaced 
 by the deep-tree Mexican silla, with its corona of 
 stamped leather and wooden estrihos. The mules,
 
 A STRAXGE TRAXSFORMATION. 129 
 
 too, were rigged in a different manner ; each having 
 the regular alpareja or pack-saddle, with the broad 
 apishamores breeched upon its hips; while the 
 spoils, no longer in loose carelessly tied-up bun- 
 dles, were made up into neat packs, as goods in 
 regular transportation by an atajo. 
 
 The two men who conducted them had alto- 
 gether a changed appearance. Then- skins were 
 still of the same colour — the pure bronze-black of 
 the Indian — but, instead of the eagle's feathers 
 late sticking up above their crowns, both had 
 their heads now covered with simple straw hats ; 
 while sleeveless coats of coarse woollen stuff, with 
 stripes running transversely — tilmas — shrouded 
 their shoulders, their limbs having free play in 
 white cotton drawers of ample width. A leathern 
 belt, and apron of reddish -coloured sheepskin, 
 tanned, completed the costume of an arrlero of 
 the humbler class — the mozo or assistant. 
 
 But the change in the two other men — the 
 chief and him addressed as Eoblez — was of a far 
 more striking kind. They had entered the cave 
 as Indians, warriors of the first rank, plumed, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 I30 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 painted, and adorned with all the devices and 
 insignia of savage heraldry. They came out of it 
 as white men, wearing the costume of well-to-do 
 rancheros — or rather that of town -traders — hroad 
 glazed hats upon their heads, cloth jackets and 
 trousers, the latter having the seats and inside of 
 the legs fended with a lining of stamped leather. 
 Boots TNith heavy spurs upon their feet, crape 
 sashes around the waist, machetes strapped along 
 the flaps of their saddles, and serapes resting 
 folded over the croup, gave the finishing touch to 
 their travelling equipment. These, with the well- 
 appointed atap of mules, made the party one of 
 peaceful merchants transporting their merchandise 
 from town to town. 
 
 On coming out of the cave, the leader, looking 
 fresh and bright from his change of toilet and the 
 late purification of his skin, glanced up toward 
 the sky, as if to consult the sun as to the hour. 
 At the same time he drew a gold watch from his 
 vest-pocket, and looked also at that. 
 
 * We'll be just in the right time, Koblez,' ^e 
 said* * Six hours yet before sunset. That will
 
 A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 131 
 
 get us out into the valley, and in the river road. 
 We're not likely to meet any one after nightfall 
 in these days of Indian alarms. Four more will 
 bring us to Albuquerque, long after the sleepy 
 townfolks have gone to bed. We've let it go late 
 enough anyhow, and mustn't delay here any longer. 
 Look well to your mules, inozos ! Vamonos /' 
 
 At the word all started together down the 
 gorge, the speaker as before leading the way, 
 Koblez next, and the mozos with their laden 
 mules stringing out in the rear. 
 
 Soon after, they reentered the mountain defile, 
 and once more heading north-westward, silently 
 continued on for the valley of the Eio del Norte. 
 Their road, as before, led tortuously through canons 
 and rugged ravines ; no road at all, but a mere 
 bridle-path, faintly indicated by the previous pass- 
 age of an occasional wayfarer, or the tracks of 
 straying cattle. 
 
 The sun was just sinking over the far western 
 Cordilleras when the precipitous walls of the Sierra 
 Blanca, opening wider on each side of the defile, 
 disclosed to the spoil-laden party a view of the
 
 132 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 broad level plain known as the valley of the Del 
 Norte. 
 
 Soon after, they had descended to it ; and in 
 the midst of night, with a starry sky overhead, 
 were traversing the level road upon which the 
 broad wheel-tracks of rude country carts — carretas 
 — told of the proximity of settlements. It was a 
 country road, leading out from the foot-hills of the 
 sierra to a crossing of the river, near the village 
 of Tome, where it intersected with the main route 
 of travel running from El Paso in the south 
 through all the riverine towns of iSew Mexico. 
 
 Turning northward from Tome, the white rob- 
 bers, late disguised as Indians, pursued their 
 course towards the town of Albuquerque. Any 
 one meeting them on the road would have mis- 
 taken them for a party of traders en route fi*om 
 the Eio Abajo to the capital of Santa Fe. 
 
 But they went not so far. Albuquerque was 
 the goal of their journey ; though on arriving there 
 — which they did a little after midnight — they 
 made no stop in the town, nor any noise to dis- 
 turb its inhabitants, at that hour asleep.
 
 A STRAXGE TRANSFORMATION. 133 
 
 Passing silently through the unpaved streets, 
 they kept on a little farther. A large house or 
 hacienda, tree -shaded, and standing outside the 
 suburbs, was the stopping-place they were aiming 
 at; and towards this they directed their course. 
 There was a m'lrador or belvidere upon the roof — 
 the same beside which Colonel Miranda and his 
 American guest, just twelve months before, had 
 stood smoking their cigars. 
 
 As then, there was a guard of soldiers within 
 the covered entrance, with a sentry outside the 
 gate. He was leaning against the postern, his 
 form in the darkness just distinguishable against 
 the gray-white of the wall. 
 
 * Quien viva V he hailed as the two horsemen 
 rode up, the hoof-strokes startling him out of a 
 half-drunken doze. 
 
 * El coronel-commandante /' responded the tall 
 man in a tone that told of authority. 
 
 It proved to be countersign sufficient, the 
 speaker's voice being instantly recognised. 
 
 The sentry, bringing his piece to the salute, 
 permitted the horsemen to pass without farther
 
 134 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 parley, as also the atajo in their train ; all en- 
 tering and disappearing witLin the dark doorway, 
 just as they had made entrance into the mouth of 
 the mountain cavern. 
 
 While listening to the hoof- strokes of the 
 animals ringing on the pavement of the jicitio 
 inside, the sentinel had his reflections and con- 
 jectures. He wondered where the Colonel Com- 
 mandante could have been to keep him so long 
 absent from his command — and he had perhaps 
 other conjectures of an equally perplexing nature. 
 They did not much trouble him, however. What 
 mattered it to him how the Commandant employed 
 his time, or where it was spent, so long as he got 
 his siieldo and rations? He had them with due 
 regularity; and with this consoling reflection he 
 wrapped his yellow cloak around him, leaned 
 against the wall, and soon after succumbed to 
 the state of semi -watchfulness from which the 
 unexpected advent had aroused him. 
 
 * Carrambo !' exclaimed the Colonel to his sub- 
 ordinate, when, after looking to the stowage of the 
 plunder, the two men sat together in a well-fur-
 
 A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 135 
 
 nished apartment of the hacienda, with a table, 
 decanters, and glasses between them. * It's been 
 a long tedious tramp, hasn't it ? Well, we've not 
 wasted our time, nor had our toil for nothing. 
 Come, tenientef fill your glass again, and let us 
 drink to our commercial adventure. Here's, that 
 in the disposal of our goods we may be as suc- 
 cessful as in their purchase !' 
 
 Eight merrily the lieutenant refilled his glass, 
 and responded to the toast of his superior officer. 
 
 * I suspect, Koblez,' continued the colonel, 
 ' that you have been all the while wondering how 
 I came to know about this caravan whose spoil is 
 to enrich us — its route, the exact time of its 
 arrival, the strength of its defenders — everything? 
 You think our friend the Horned Lizard gave me 
 all this information ?' 
 
 * No, I don't ; since that could not well be. 
 How was Horned Lizard to know himself — that is, 
 in time to have sent word to you ? In truth, mio 
 coronel, I am, as you say, in a quandary about all 
 that. I cannot even guess at the explanation.' 
 
 ' This would give it to you, if you could read ;
 
 136 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 but I know you cannot, mio teniente ; your educa- 
 tion has been sadly neglected. Never mind, I 
 shall read it for you.' 
 
 As the colonel was speaking, he had taken 
 from the drawer of an escritoire that stood close 
 by, a sheet of paper folded in the form of a letter. 
 It was one, though it bore no postmark. For all 
 that, it looked as if it had travelled far — perchance 
 carried by hand. It had in truth come all the 
 way across the prairies. Its superscription was : 
 
 * El Coroxel Miranda, Commandante del 
 
 DiSTRITO MILITARIO DE AlBUQUERQUE, 
 
 NuEYO Mexico.' 
 
 Its contents, also in Spanish, translated read 
 thus : 
 
 ^ My dear Colonel Miranda, — I am about to 
 carry out the i^romhe made to you at our parting. 
 I have my mercantile enterprise in a forward 
 state of readiness for a start over the plains. My 
 caravan will not he a large one, about six or seven 
 ivagons with less than a score of men ; but the 
 goods I take are valuable, in an inverse ratio 
 to their bulk — designed for the '' ricos^' of your
 
 A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 137 
 
 country. I intend taking departure from the fron- 
 tier town of Van Buren, in the State of Arkansas, 
 and shall go by a neiv route lately discovered by 
 one of our prairie traders, that leads iiart ivay 
 along the Canadian river, by you called ^' Rio de 
 la Canada,'' and skirting the great plain of the 
 Llano Estacado at its upper end. This southern 
 route makes us more independent of the season, 
 so that I shall be able to travel in the fall. If 
 nothing occur to delay me in the route, I shall 
 reach Neiv Mexico about the middle of November, 
 ivhen I anticipate renewing those relations of a 
 pleasant friendship, in which you have been all 
 the giver, and I all the receiver. 
 
 I send this by one of the spring caravans 
 starting from Independence for Santa Fe, in the 
 hope that it will safely reach you. — I subscribe 
 myself, dear Colonel Miranda, 
 
 Your gratefid friend, 
 
 Francis Haiviersley.' 
 
 * Well, teniente,' said his colonel, as he re- 
 folded the far-fetched epistle, and returned it to
 
 138 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 the escritoire, ' do you comprehend matters any- 
 clearer, now?' 
 
 * Clear as the sun that shines over the Llano 
 Estacado,' was the I'eply of the lieutenant, whose 
 admiration for the executive qualities of his su- 
 perior officer, along with the bumpers he had 
 imbibed, had now exalted his fancy to a poetical 
 elevation. * Carrai-i ! Esta un golpe magnifico ! 
 (It's a splendid stroke!) worthy of Manuel Armigo 
 himself — or even the great Santa Anna.' 
 
 ' A greater stroke than you yet think it, for it 
 is double — two birds killed with the same stone. 
 Let us again drink to it !' 
 
 The glasses were once more filled ; and once 
 more did the associated bandits toast to the ne- 
 farious enterprise they had so successfully accom- 
 plished. 
 
 Then Koblez rose to go to the cuartel or bar- 
 racks, where he had his place of sleeping and 
 abode, bidding huena noche to his colonel. 
 
 The latter also bethought him of bed ; and 
 taking a lamp from the table, commenced moving 
 towards his cuarto cle camara.
 
 A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION, 139 
 
 On coming opposite a picture suspended 
 against the sola wall — the portrait of a beautiful 
 girl — he stopped in front, for a moment gazed 
 upon it, and then into a mirror that stood close 
 
 by- 
 
 As if there was something in the glass that 
 reflected its shadow into his very soul, the ex- 
 pression of exultant triumph, so late depicted 
 upon his face, was all at once swept from it, 
 giving place to a look of blank bitterness. 
 
 ' One is gone,' he said, in a half-muttered 
 soliloquy; ' one part of the stain wiped out — thanks 
 to the Holy Virgin for that. But the other ; and 
 she — where, where ?' 
 
 And with these words he staggered on towards 
 his chamber.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE STAKED PLAIN. 
 
 Spread before you a map of prairie-land — and I 
 will point out the tract of territory known as the 
 * Llano Estacado,' or Staked Plain. 
 
 It must be a map of modern time, based on 
 the latest explorations; else you will have some 
 difficulty in comprehending the limits assigned to 
 this singular, and yet almost unexplored district 
 of country. A prairie-chart of even less than a 
 quarter of a century ago will show it traversed by 
 a series of parallel streams, the head-waters of the 
 Eed River of Louisiana, the Brazos of Texas — as 
 also the numerous tributaries of the Texan Colo- 
 rado. It is true that these rivers head on the 
 Staked Plain, but none of them run across it. 
 They have their sources within it, debouching
 
 THE STAKED PLAIN. 
 
 from its eastern edge, that boldly bluffs upon tlie 
 great plain of Texas by an escarpment running 
 continuous for hundreds of miles. A strip on its 
 eastern side is intersected by deep clefts or canons, 
 cut by the numerous streams as they work their 
 way to the outer and lower tableland of Texas. 
 
 The misconception long held in regard to the 
 sources of the Louisiana Eed, as also the large 
 rivers of Texas, was natural enough. The early 
 explorers of the Western territory had traced the 
 more northern prairie streams up to the main 
 Cordillera of the Sierra Madre (mother chain), 
 known to them as the Stony or Kocky Mountains. 
 The Missouri, the Platte, and the Arkansas, 
 headed there ; and Pike, misled by a similarity of 
 name, explored the prairie (not the Texan) Colo- 
 rado to its source in the vertebral chain, believing 
 it to be the Red Paver of Louisiana. It is now 
 known to be a tributary of the Arkansas ; while 
 the head-waters of the real Pied have been found 
 farther to the south, not springing from the 
 Rocky Mountains at all, but from the ceja of the 
 Staked Plain, two hundred miles to the eastward.
 
 142 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Pike's Colorado — the Goo-al-pah of the Indians 
 — now more commonly called Canadian (another 
 misnomer, due to a misapprehension of the Span- 
 ish phrase BXo de la Canada, or * Eiver of the 
 canon'), will give a good idea of the position of 
 the Staked Plain. It is usually assumed as the 
 northern boundary of this desert tract; though, 
 speaking in a strict geological sense, it is not so : 
 since the elevated tableland thus designated ex- 
 tends for a considerable distance north of the 
 Canadian ; and it is in fact the intersection of a 
 portion of it that causes the great cano7i from 
 which this river has derived its Spanish name. 
 
 Taking the Canadian, however, as its northern 
 boundary, we have the Staked Plain running lon- 
 gitudinally southward through several degrees of 
 latitude, showing almost a precipitous front — or 
 ceja, as called by the Spanish Americans — to the 
 champaign country of Texas. It narrows towards 
 its southern extremity ; there giving source to the 
 Leona, Nueces, and other head-streams of the 
 Texan Colorado. 
 
 On the west its limits are more definitely
 
 THE STAKED PEALY. 143 
 
 drawn ; the Pecos river — itself having source very- 
 near the Canadian — running close to and nearly 
 parallel with its western edge. 
 
 This is also subject to an exceptional remark : 
 that the valley, or bottom of the Pecos, is but a 
 portion of the tableland hollowed out by rain and 
 river erosion. Taking this view, the Staked Plain 
 may be regarded as a part of the upland plateaux 
 stretching eastward from the Sierra Madre (Sierra 
 Blanca and Los Organos) ; thus isolated from the 
 tablelands lying more immediately among, and 
 enclosed by, Cordilleras of the mountains. 
 
 In any case, the Staked Plain rises above the 
 surrounding country, with a well-marked bound- 
 ary — either a precipitous slope or a sheer escarp- 
 ment. Its elevation has been variously stated 
 from five hundred to two thousand feet — the 
 diversity of statements due partly to guess esti- 
 mates, and partly to its having been viewed at 
 different points. Eight hundred feet will be about 
 the average height of its surface above the sur- 
 rounding prairies — these again having about twice 
 this elevation above the level of the sea.
 
 144 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 Contrary to the general belief, there are hills 
 and mountain-groups on the Staked Plain, that 
 rise considerably higher than the ordinary level 
 of its surface. As it has a superficial area as 
 large as that of England, and has been only 
 explored by a transverse crossing at two points 
 widely apart, it will not seem strange that these 
 mountain-groups have, till a late period, escaped 
 observation. 
 
 A portion of this singular territory belongs to 
 the great gypsum formation of the South- Western 
 prairies, perhaps the largest in the world — while 
 a highly-coloured sandstone of varied hues, and 
 sometimes ferruginous, forms a conspicuous fea- 
 ture in its cliffs. Primitive rock will be found in 
 its mountain-groups. Its surface, however, is for 
 the most part a level plain, sterile as the desert, 
 in places smooth and hard as a macadamised 
 road ; though in other places indented with deep 
 fissures (barrancas), apparently the work of water. 
 
 These often yawn open at the feet of the tra- 
 veller; giving neither sign nor warning of their 
 proximity, until he stands upon the edge of a
 
 THE STAKED PLAIN. 1^5 
 
 precipitous escarpment opening hundreds of feet 
 into the earth. In their beds may be seen loose 
 boulders, piled upon one another in chaotic con- 
 fusion, as if they had been flung there by the 
 hands of giants ; trunks of trees, too, in a state 
 of fossilisation, like those seen by Dar\^-in on the 
 eastern declivity of the South American Andes. 
 
 Near its southern end there is a group of 
 medanos or sand-hills, covering several hundred 
 square miles of surface, and still drifting about as 
 the dunes on the shores of a sea. A fact stranger 
 still : high up amid the summits of these sand- 
 hills is a lakelet or pond of pure drinking-water, 
 though not a drop can be found upon the plain 
 itself for scores of miles from the place. Sedge 
 and lilies grow in and around this tarn, so singu- 
 larly situated. 
 
 Nearly all the streams that head in the Staked 
 Plain cut deep canons in their way to the outer 
 and lower level. These are often impassable, 
 either transversely or along their channels. Some- 
 times, however, their beds are worn out into little 
 valleys or ' coves' — in which a luxuriant vegeta- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 tion finds shelter and a congenial soil. There 
 flourish the pecan, the hackherry, the black wal- 
 nut, the wild China, with evergreen oaks, plums, 
 and clustering grape-vines ; while in the sterile 
 plain above are only seen those forms of the bo- 
 tanical world that truly indicate the desert — 
 various species of cactacecs, agaves, and yuccas-^ 
 the palmilla and lechugidlla, dwarf-cedars and 
 mezquites, artemisia, and the strong-smelling 
 larrea, or ' creosote plant.' 
 
 Animals are rare upon the Staked Plain ; 
 although the prong-horn antelope — true denizen 
 of the desert — is there found, as also its enemy 
 the Mexican jackal or coyote. To the rattlesnake 
 and horned lizard (agama) it is a congenial home ; 
 and the singular snake-bird — paisano — may fre- 
 quently be seen running over the sterile waste, or 
 skulking through the tortuous stems of the nopals. 
 In the canons of the streams the grizzly bear 
 makes his haunt ; and in times not long past it 
 was ascended and traversed by the unwieldy buf- 
 falo. The wild horse still occasionally courses 
 across it.
 
 THE STAKED PLAIN. 147 
 
 Of all living tilings, it is least frequented by 
 man. Even the Indian rarely strays into its soli- 
 tudes ; and the white man, when called upon to 
 enter them, does so with fear and trembling ; for 
 he knows there is danger. 
 
 This is chiefly due to the absence of water ; 
 but there is also the chance of going astray, and 
 getting lost for the want of landmarks. To get 
 lost in a wilderness of any kind is a dangerous 
 predicament for a traveller — but in one with neither 
 grass nor water it is death. 
 
 The Staked Plain extends longitudinally be- 
 tween what in Hispano-Mexican times were the 
 provinces of Nuevo Mexico and Texas, having for 
 their respective capitals Santa Fe and San An- 
 tonio de Bejar. Between these there was a neces- 
 sary intercourse, both of a commercial and military 
 character. This was carried on by a route that 
 runs in slanting direction across the Staked Plain, 
 a little to the north of its centre, striking on the 
 Texan side the head- waters of the Colorado. To 
 avoid straying from what the desert drift pre- 
 vented from becoming a trace, the viceregal go-
 
 148 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 vernment took the precaution to have posts or 
 stakes set up, at such distances apart as to be 
 visible from one another. 
 
 Hence the name of this strange tract — FX 
 Llano Estacado, or the ' Staked Plain' — a title 
 it is likely to bear to the end of time, as well as 
 the trackless sterility which was the cause of its 
 being bestowed.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 INTO THE DESERT. 
 
 The place where the American caravan had been 
 attacked was in the bed of a dry water-course^ 
 resembling a sand plain. In time of rain only 
 was there water in it, when it became a confluent 
 of the Goo -al- pah or Canadian river. Directly 
 over it frowned the precipitous cliff, up which the 
 young prairie merchant and his guide, after their 
 series of hair-breadth escapes, had succeeded in 
 climbing. It was the scarped edge of a spur of 
 the Staked Plain ; and it was into this sterile tract 
 they were now fleeing. 
 
 Neither had any definite knowledge of the land 
 that lay before them, nor the direction they should
 
 I50 • THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 take. Their only thought was to put space be- 
 tween themselves and the scene of their disaster ; 
 enough to secure them against being seen by the 
 eye of any Indian coming after. 
 
 A glance was sufficient to satisfy them that 
 only by distance could they obtain concealment. 
 Far as the eye could reach, the surface appeared 
 a perfect level, without shrub or tree. There was 
 not cover enough to give hiding-place to a hare. 
 Although now in full run, and with no appearance 
 of being pursued, they were far from being con- 
 fident of escaping. They had the apprehension 
 that some of the savages had ascended to the 
 upper plain, and were still upon it, searching for 
 them. If so, though now out of sight, these might 
 be encountered at any moment, returning disap- 
 pointed from the chase. 
 
 The fugitives drew some consolation from the 
 knowledge, that the pursuers could not have got 
 their horses up the cliff ; and, if there was to be 
 another chapter to the chase, it would be on foot 
 — a contest of pedestrian speed. In a trial of this 
 kind, Walt Wilder at least had nothing to fear.
 
 INTO THE DESERT. 151 
 
 The Colossus with his long strides would have 
 been almost a match for the giant with the seven- 
 league boots. 
 
 His only uneasiness was that the savages 
 might have gone out upon the track they were 
 themselves taking, and, appearing in their front, 
 might head them off, and so intercept their re- 
 treat. As there was yet no savage in sight — no 
 sign either of man or animal — their confidence in- 
 creased; and when they had made a mile or so 
 across the plain, they no longer looked ahead, but 
 backwards. 
 
 At short intervals the great brown beard of the 
 guide swept over his left shoulder, as he cast 
 anxious glances behind him. They were all the 
 more anxious on observing — which he now did — 
 that his fellow-fugitive flagged in his pace, and 
 showed signs of giving out. 
 
 With a quick comprehension, and without any 
 questions asked, Wilder understood the reason. 
 In the smoke-cloud that had covered their retreat 
 from the corralled wagons, and afterwards in the 
 sombre shadow of the chine and the deep darkness
 
 152 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 of the cave, he had not observed what now, in the 
 bright glare of the sun, was too plainly apparent — 
 that the garments of his comrade were saturated 
 with blood ! 
 
 Hamersley had scarce noticed it himself, and 
 his attention was now called to it, less from per- 
 ceiving any acute pain, than that he began to feel 
 faint and feeble. Blood was oozing through the 
 breast of his shirt, running down the legs of 
 his pantaloons, and on over his boots. And the 
 fountain from which it proceeded was fast dis- 
 closing itself by an aching pain in his side, that 
 increased as he kept on. 
 
 A moment's pause to examine it. When the 
 vest and shirt were torn aside, it was seen that a 
 bullet had passed through his left side, causing 
 only a flesh-wound, but cutting an artery in its 
 course. Scratched and cut in several other places, 
 for the time equally as painful, he had not yet 
 given heed to this more serious wound. 
 
 It was not mortal, nor likely to prove so. The 
 guide and hunter — like most of his calling — was 
 a rough practical surgeon ; and after giving it a
 
 INTO THE DESERT. 153 
 
 hurried examination, pronounced it ' only a scratch,' 
 and urged his companion onward. 
 
 Again starting, they proceeded at the same 
 quick pace ; but before they had made another mile, 
 the wounded man felt his weakness again over- 
 coming him ; and the rapid run was succeeded by 
 a slow dog-trot, soon after decreasing to a walk, 
 and at length ending in a dead stop. 
 
 * I can go no farther, Walt ; not if all the 
 devils of hell were at my heels. I've done my 
 best. If they should come after, you keep on, and 
 leave me.' 
 
 * Nirer, Frank Hamersley, niver ! Walt Wilder 
 ain't the man to sep'rate from a kimrade, and 
 leave him in a fix that way. If you must pull 
 up, so do this child. An' I see ye must ; thar's 
 no behelp for it.' 
 
 * I could not go a step farther.' 
 
 ' Enuf ! But don't let's stan' to be seen miles 
 off. Squat's the word. Down on yer belly, like 
 a toad under a harrer. Thar's jest a resemblance 
 o' kiver, hyar 'mong these tussocks 0' buffler-grass ; 
 an' this child ain't the most inconspicerousest
 
 154 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 objeck on this plain. Let's down on our breast- 
 ribs, an' lay flat as pancakes.' 
 
 Hamersley, already tottering, dropped down by 
 liis side ; as he did so, leaving the plain, far as the 
 eye could reach, without salient object to intercept 
 the vision — any more than might have been seen 
 on the surface of a sleeping ocean. 
 
 It was in favour of the fugitives that the day 
 had now well declined ; and they had not remained 
 long before the sun, sinking behind the western 
 horizon, gave them an opportunity of once more 
 getting upon their feet. 
 
 They did so, glad to escape from a position 
 whose restraint had become exceedingly irksome. 
 They had suffered from the hot atmosphere rising 
 like caloric from the parched plain. But now that 
 the sun had gone down, a cool breeze began to 
 play over its surface, fanning them to a fresh 
 energy. Besides, the night closing over them, 
 and the moon not yet up, had removed the neces- 
 sity for lying any longer in concealment, and they 
 could proceed onward without fear. Hamersley 
 felt as if fresh blood had been infused into his
 
 INTO THE DESERT. 155 
 
 veins ; and he was ready to spring to his feet at 
 the same timers his comrade. 
 
 * Frank ! d'ye think ye kin go a little furrer 
 now ?' was the interrogatory put by the hunter. 
 
 * Yes, Walt ; miles farther,' was the response ; 
 * I feel as if I could walk across the grandest 
 spread of prairie.' 
 
 *Good!' ejaculated the guide. 'I'm glad to 
 hear you talk that way. If we kin but git a 
 wheen 0' miles atween us an' them yelpin' savages, 
 we may hev a chance 0' salvation yit. The wust 
 o' the thing air, that we don't know which way to 
 go. It's a toss up 'tween 'em. If we turn back 
 torst the Canadyen, we may meet 'em agin, an' 
 right in the teeth. Westart lie the settlements o' 
 the Del Nort; but we mout come on the same 
 Injuns by goin' that direckshun : I'm not sartin 
 they're Tenawas. Southart this Staked Plain hain't 
 no endin' till ye git down to the Grand river below 
 its big bend, an' that ain't to be thort 0'. By 
 strikin' east, a little southart, we mout reach the 
 head-sources 0' the Loozyany Ked ; an' oncest on 
 a stream o' runnin' water, this child kin ginerally
 
 156 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 navigate down it, provided he hev a rifle, powder, 
 an' a bullet or two in his pouch. Thank the 
 Almighty Lord, we've stuck to your gun through 
 the thick an' the thin o't. Ef we hedn't, we mout 
 jest as well lie down agin, an' make a die at 
 oncest.' 
 
 * Go which way you please, "Walt ; you know 
 best. I am ready to follow you ; and I think I 
 shall be able.' 
 
 * Wal, at anyhow we'd best be movin' off from 
 hyar. If ye can't go a great ways under kiver 
 0' the night, I reck'n we kin put enuf o' paraira 
 atween us an' these Injuns, to make sure agin thar 
 spyin' us in the mornin'. So let's start south-east- 
 art, an' try for the sources 0' the Red. Thar's that 
 ole beauty 0' the North Star thet's been my friend 
 an' guide many's the good time. Thar it is, makin' 
 the handle 0' the Plough, or the Great Bar, as 
 I've heerd that air coUeckshin o' stars freekwently 
 called. We've only to keep it on our left, a leetle 
 torst the back 0' the shoulder, an' then we're boun' 
 to bring out on some 0' the head-forks 0' the Red — 
 if we kin only last long enuf to reech 'em. Darn
 
 INTO THE DESERT 
 
 157 
 
 it, thar's no danger ; an' anyhow thar's no help for 
 it but try. Come along !' 
 
 So saying the hunter started forward, not in 
 fall stride, as he would otherwise have done, hut 
 timing his pace to suit the feeble step of his 
 disabled companion.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 
 
 Guiding their course by the stars, the fugitives 
 continued on, no longer going in a run, nor even 
 in a very rapid walk. Despite the resolution 
 with which he endeavoured to nerve himself, the 
 wounded man was still too weak to make much 
 progress ; and they advanced hut slowly over the 
 plain. His companion did not urge him to 
 quicken his pace. The experienced prairie man 
 knew it would be better to go slowly than get 
 broken down by straining forward too eagerly. 
 There was no sign or sound of pursuit, either 
 behind or before them. The stillness of the 
 desert was around them — its silence only inter- 
 rupted by the * whip-whip ' of the night-hawk's 
 wings, and at intervals its note answering to
 
 A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 159 
 
 the shriller cry of the kill-deer plover, that rose 
 screaming before their faces. These, with the 
 constant skii-r of the ground-crickets, and the 
 baying bark of the coyote, were the only sounds 
 that saluted them as they passed on — none of 
 which were of a kind to cause alarm. 
 
 There appeared no compulsory reason for 
 making much haste. They had all the night 
 before them, and before daylight could again dis- 
 cover them, they would be sure to find some place 
 of concealment. 
 
 The gi'ound was favourable to pedestrianism 
 in the darkness. The surface, hard-baked by the 
 sun, was level as a set flagstone, and in most 
 places so smooth that a carriage could have glided 
 over it, as over the drive of a park. Well for 
 them it was thus. Had the path been a rugged 
 one, the wounded man could not have gone far 
 without giving out. Even as it was, the toil soon 
 began to tell upon his wasted strength and veins 
 almost emptied of blood. 
 
 Nor did they proceed a very great distance 
 before again coming to a halt, though far enough
 
 i6o THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 to feel sure that, standing erect, they could not 
 be seen by any one who might ascend the cliff at 
 the place where they had made departure from it. 
 
 But they had also reached that which offered 
 them a chance of cover — in short, a forest. It 
 was a forest not discernible at more than a mile's 
 distance, for the trees that composed it were * shin 
 oaks ' — the tallest not rising to a height of over 
 eighteen inches above the surface of the ground. 
 Eighteen inches was enough to conceal the body 
 of a man lying in a prostrate attitude ; and as the 
 Lilliputian trees grew thick as jimson w^eeds, the 
 cover would be a secure one. Unless the pursuers 
 should stray so close as to tread upon them, there 
 would be no danger of their being seen. Farther 
 reflection had by this time satisfied them, that 
 the Indians were not now upon the upper plain. 
 It was not likely, after the pains they had taken 
 to smoke them in the cave, and afterwards cover 
 them up. Besides, the distribution of the spoils 
 would be an attraction sure to have drawn them 
 back to the wagons — and speedily. 
 
 Becoming satisfied that there was no longer
 
 A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. i6i 
 
 a likelihood of their being pursued across the 
 plain, Wilder proposed that they should again 
 make stop ; this time to obtain sleep, which in 
 their anxiety during their previous spell of rest 
 they had not thought of. 
 
 Walt made the proposal out of consideration 
 for his comrade ; who for some time, as he saw, 
 had evidently been hard labouring to keep up with 
 him. 
 
 ' We kin lie by till sun-up,' he said; ^ an' then, 
 if we see any sign o' pursoot, kin stay hyar till 
 the sun go down ag'in. These shin oaks will gie 
 us kiver enuf. Squatted there'll be no chance o' 
 thar diskiverin' us, unless they stumble right atop 
 o' us.' 
 
 His companion was not in the mood to make 
 objection ; and the two laid themselves along the 
 earth, the miniature forest not only giving them 
 the protection of a screen, but a soft bed, as their 
 tiny trunks and leaf-laden branches became spread 
 out beneath their bodies. 
 
 They remained awake only long enough to give 
 Hamersley's wound such dressing as the circum- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 i62 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 stances would permit, and tlien both sank into 
 slumber. 
 
 With tlie young prairie merchant it was nei- 
 ther deep nor profound. Horrid visions floated 
 before his rapt senses — scenes of red carnage — 
 causing him ever and anon to awake with a start, 
 once or t\^ice with a cry that also aroused his 
 companion. 
 
 Otherwise Walt Wilder would have slept as 
 soundly as if reposing on the couch of a log-cabin 
 a thousand miles removed from any scene of dan- 
 ger. It was no new thing for him to go to sleep 
 with the yell of the savages sounding in his ears. 
 For a period of over twenty years he had daily 
 as nightly stretched his huge frame along moun- 
 tain slope or level prairie, and often with far 
 more danger of having his * hair raised ' before 
 standing erect again. For ten years Walt had 
 belonged to the ' Texas Rangers ' — that strange 
 organisation that had existed ever since Stephen 
 Austin had first planted his colony in the territory 
 of the ' Lone Star.' If on this night the ex-ran- 
 ger was more than unusually restless, it was from
 
 A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 163 
 
 anxiety about his comrade, and the state of his 
 nervous system, stirred to feverish excitement by 
 the terrible conflict through which he had just 
 passed. Notwithstanding all, he slumbered in long 
 -spells, at times snoring like an alligator. 
 
 At no time did he stand in need of very much 
 sleep, even after the most protracted toil. Six 
 hours was his usual daily or nocturnal dose ; and 
 as the gray dawn began to glimmer over the tops 
 of the shin oaks, he sprang to his feet, shook the 
 dew from his shoulders like a startled stag, and 
 then bent down to examine the condition of his 
 comrade. 
 
 'Don't ye git up yit, Frank,' he said. 'We 
 musn't start till we hev a clar view all roun', an' 
 be sure there's neery redskin in sight. Then we 
 kin take the sun a leetle on our left cheek, an' 
 make tracks to the south-eastart. How is't wi' 
 ye, Frank T 
 
 * I feel weak as water ; still I think I can 
 travel a little farther.' 
 
 * Wal, we'll go slow. Ef there's none 0' the 
 skunks arter us, we kin take our time. Durn me !
 
 1 64 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 I'm still a-wonderin' what- Injuns tlieywar; I'm a. 
 most sartint 'tliar the Tenawa Kimanch — a band 
 o' the Buffler-eaters an' the wust lot on all the 
 paraira. Miny's the fight we Eangers used to 
 hev wi' 'em, an' miny's the one o' em this child 
 hev rubbed out. Ef I only hed my rifle hyar — 
 durn the luck hevin' to desart that gun — I ked 
 show you nine nicks on her timmer as stan' for 
 nine Tenawa Kimanch. Ef 't be them, we've got 
 to keep well to the southart. Thar range lays 
 most in the Canadyin, or round the heads o' Big 
 Wichitu, an' they mout cross a corner o' the 
 Staked Plain on thar way home. Tharfur we 
 must go southart a good bit, an' try for the north 
 fork o' the Brazos. Ef we meet Injun thar, they'd 
 be Southern Kimanch — not nigh sech feeroshus 
 varmints as them. Do you know, Frank, I've 
 been hevin' a dreem bout them Injuns as at- 
 tacked us ?' 
 
 ' A dream ! So have I. It is not strange for 
 either of us to dream of them. What was yours, 
 Walt?' 
 
 ' Kewrus enuf mine war ; though it warn't all
 
 A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 165 
 
 a dreem. I reck'n I war mor'en half awake when 
 I tuk to thinkin' about 'em, an' 'twar somethin' I 
 see'd durin' the skrimmage. Didn't you observe 
 nothin' queery ?' 
 
 ' Eather say, nothing that was not that way. 
 It was all queer enough, and terrible too.' 
 
 * That this child will admit wi' full freedom. 
 But I've fit redskin afore in all sorts an' shapes, 
 yet niver see'd redskin sech as them.' 
 
 * In what did they differ from other savages ? 
 I saw nothing different.' 
 
 * But I did : leastway I suspeck I did. Didn't 
 you spy 'mong the lot two or three that had ha'r 
 on thar faces ?' 
 
 * Yes ; I noticed that. I thought nothing of 
 it. It's common among the Comanches, and other 
 tribes of the Mexican territory ; many of whom 
 are of mixed breed — from the captive Mexican 
 women they have among them.' 
 
 ' The ha'r I see'd didn't look like it grew on 
 the face o' a mixed blood.' 
 
 ' But there are pure white men among them 
 — outlaws, who have run away from civilisation
 
 i66 THE LONE RANCHE, 
 
 and turned renegades — as also captives tliey have 
 taken, who become IncUanisecl, as the Mexicans 
 call it. Doubtless, it may have been some of these 
 we saw.' 
 
 ' "Wall, you may be right, Frank. Sartint thar 
 war one I see'd wi' a beard most as big 's my 
 own — only it war black. His hide war black too, 
 or nigh to it ; but ef that skunk wan't white 
 un'emeath a coatin' o' charcoal an' vermilion, 
 then Walt Wilder don't know a Kristyun fi-om a 
 heethun. 'Tain't no use spek'latin' on't now. 
 White, black, yella-belly or red, they've put us 
 afoot on the paraira, an' kim darned nigh wipin' 
 us out althegither. We've got a fair chance o'" 
 goin' un'er yit, eyther from thirst or the famish- 
 ment o' empty stomaks. I'm hungry enuf arready 
 to eat a coyoat. Thar's a heavy row afore us, 
 Frank, an' we must strengthen our hearts to 
 hoein' o' it. Wall, the sun's up ; an' as thar 
 don't appear to be any obstruckshun, I reck'n 
 we'd best be makin' tracks.' 
 
 Hamersley slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, 
 rose to his feet. He still felt himself in a poor
 
 A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 
 
 67 
 
 condition for travelling. But to stay tliere was to 
 die ; and bracing himself to the effoi-t, he stepped 
 out side by side with his colossal companion.
 
 CHAPTEK X^^I. 
 
 STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 
 
 It is the fourth day after forsaking their couch 
 among the shin oaks, and the two fugitives are 
 still travelling upon the Staked Plain. They have 
 not made more than sixty, miles to the south- 
 eastward, and have not yet struck any of the 
 streams leading out to the lower level of the Texan 
 champaign. 
 
 Their progi-ess has been slov»'; the wounded 
 man, instead of recovering strength, has but grown 
 feebler. His steps are now unequal and tottering. 
 In addition to the loss of blood, something else 
 has aided to disable him : the fierce cravings of 
 hunger, and the yet more insufferable agony of 
 thirst. 
 
 His companion is similarly afflicted ; if not in
 
 STRUGGLIXG AMONG THE SAGES. 169 
 
 so great a degree, enough to make liim almost 
 stagger in liis steps. Neither have had any water 
 since the last drop drank amid the wagons, before 
 commencing the fight, and since then a fervent 
 sun shining daily down upon them ; with no food 
 save crickets caught on the plain, an occasional 
 horned frog, and some fruits of the opuntia cactus 
 — these last obtained sparingly. 
 
 Hunger has made havoc with both, sad and 
 quick. Already at the end of the fourth day they 
 are skeletons — more like spectres than men. 
 
 And the scene around them is in keeping. 
 The plain, far as the eye can reach, is covered 
 with artemisia, whose hoary foliage, in close con- 
 tact at the tops, displays a continuation of surface, 
 like a vast winding-sheet spread over the world. 
 
 Across this fall the shadows of the two men, 
 proportioned to their respective heights. That of 
 the ex-ranger extends nearly a mile before him ; 
 for the sun is low down, and they have its beam 
 upon their backs. 
 
 They are facing eastward, in the hope of being 
 able to reach the brow of the Llano where it fronts
 
 lyo THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 on the Texan prairies ; tliougli in tlie heart of one 
 of them that hope is nearly dead. Frank Hamers- 
 ley has but sKght thought he will ever again see the 
 homes of civilisation, or set foot upon its frontier. 
 Even the ci-devant ranger is yielding to a similar 
 apprehension. 
 
 Not far off are other animated beings, that 
 seem to rejoice. The shadows of the two men are 
 not the only ones that move over the silvery sur- 
 face of the artemisia. There too are outlined the 
 wings of birds — large birds, with sable plumage, 
 and red naked necks, whose species both know 
 well. They are the zopilotes — the buzzard-vul- 
 tures of Mexico. 
 
 A score of such shadows are flitting over the 
 sage — a score of the birds are wheeling in the air 
 above. 
 
 It is a sight to pain the traveller, even when 
 seen at a distance. Over his own head it may 
 inspire him with distress and fear, for he cannot 
 fail to read in it a forecast of his fate. 
 
 The birds were following the men, just as they 
 would a wounded buffalo or stricken deer. They
 
 STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 171 
 
 soared and circled above them, at times swooping 
 portentously near. They did not believe them to 
 be spectres. Skeletons as the travellers appeared, 
 there would still be a banquet upon their bones. 
 
 Now and then Walt Wilder cast a glance up 
 towards them. It was anxious, though he took 
 care to hide his anxiety from his comrade. He 
 cursed them, but not in speech — only in his heart, 
 and silently. 
 
 For a time the wearied wayfarers kept on 
 without exchansinoj a word. Hitherto consola- 
 tion had come from the side of the ex-ranger ; but 
 he seemed to have spent his last effort, and was 
 himself now despairing. 
 
 In Hamersley's heart hope had been gradu- 
 ally dying out, as his strength became farther 
 exhausted. At length the latter gave way, the 
 former at the same time becoming extinguished. 
 
 * No farther, Walt !' he exclaimed, coming to a 
 halt. * I can't go a step farther. There's a fire 
 in my throat that chokes me — something grasps 
 me within. It is dragging me to the ground.' 
 
 The hunter stopped too. He made no at-
 
 172 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 tempt to urge his comrade on. He saw it would 
 be idle. 
 
 * Go on yourself,' Hamersley added, gasping 
 out the words. * You have yet strength left ; and 
 may reach water. I cannot, but I can die. I'm 
 not afraid to die. Leave me, Walt ; leave me !' 
 
 'Niver!' was the response, in a hoarse husky 
 voice, but firm as if it came from the throat of a 
 speaking-trumpet. 
 
 * You will — you must. Why should two lives 
 be sacrificed for one ? Yours may still be saved. 
 Take the gun along with you. You may find some- 
 thing. Go, comrade — friend — go !' 
 
 xigain the same response, in the same tone. 
 
 * I sayed, when we were in the fight,' added 
 the colossal hunter, *an' aterwards gallupin' through 
 the smoke, that livin' or dyin' we'd got to stick 
 thegither. Didn't I say that, Frank Hamersley ? 
 I repeet it now. Ef you go unner hyar in the 
 middle o' this sage brush, Walt Wilder air goin' to 
 wrap his karkiss in a corner o' the same windin' 
 sheet. There ain't much strength left in his ole 
 skeleton now; but enuf, I reck'n, to keep them
 
 STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 173 
 
 buzzarts off for a good spell yit. They don't pick 
 our bones till I've thinned thar count anyhow. 
 Ef we air to be rubbed out, it '11 be by the chokin' 
 0' thirst, an' not the gripin' 0' hunger. What 
 durned fools we've been, not to a-thinked o't 
 afore ! but who'd iver thunk o' eatin' turkey -buz- 
 zart ? Wall, it's die dog, or swaller the hatchet ; 
 so, stinkin' as thar flesh may be, hyar goes to 
 git a meal 0' it !' 
 
 While speaking, he had carried the gun to his 
 shoulder, and simultaneous with his last words 
 came the crack, quick followed by the descent of 
 a dead zopilote among the sages. 
 
 * Now, Frank,' he said, picking up the body of 
 the bird, while the scared flock flew farther away, 
 'let's light a bit o' a fire, an' cook it. Thar's 
 plenty 0' sage for the stuffin', an' its own flavor '11 
 do for the seasonin' 0' the inyuns. I reck'n we 
 kin git some 0' it down, by shetting our noses ; 
 an', at all events, it '11 keep us alive a leetle longer. 
 Wagh, ef we only hed water !' 
 
 As if a fresh hope had shot suddenly across 
 his mind, he once more raised himself erect, on
 
 174 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 tiptoe, to the full stretch of his gigantic stature, 
 and gazed eastwardly across the plain. 
 
 ' Thar's a ridge o' hills out that way,' he said. 
 'I'd jest spied it when you spoke o' giein out. 
 Whar thar's hills, thar's a likelihood o' water. 
 Sposin', Frank, you stay hyar, whiles I make tracks 
 torst them. They look like they wa'n't mor'n ten 
 miles off anyhow. I ked eezy git back by the 
 fiiornin'. D'ye think ye kin hold out thet long- 
 by eatin' a bit o' the buzzart ?' 
 
 *I think I could hold out that long as well 
 without eating it. It's the thirst that's killing 
 me. I feel as if there was fire coursing through 
 my veins. If you think there is any chance of 
 finding water, go, Walt; and leave the buzzard 
 till you come back.' 
 
 ' I'll do it ; but don't you stuiTe in the mean 
 while. Cook the critter afore lettin' it kim to 
 that. Ye've got punk, an' kin make a fire o' the 
 sage brush. I don't intend to run the risk o' 
 sturvin' myself; an' as I mayent find anythin' 
 on the way, I'll take one o' these sweet-smellin* 
 chickens along wi' me.'
 
 STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 175 
 
 He liad already reloaded the rifle, and once 
 more poising its muzzle towards the sky, he 
 l)rought down a second of the zopilotes. 
 
 * Now, Frank,' he said, taking up the foul bird, 
 and slinging it to his belt, * keep up yur heart till 
 this child return to ye. I'm sure o' gettin' back 
 by the mornin' ; an' to make sartint 'bout the 
 place, jest you squat unner the shadder o' yon big 
 palmetto — the w^hich I kin see far enuf off to find 
 the place 'ithout having any defeequelty.' 
 
 The palmetto spoken of was in truth not a 
 * palmetto,' though a plant of kindred genus. It 
 was a yucca of a species peculiar to the high table 
 plains of northern and central Mexico, with long 
 sword-shaped leaves springing aloe-like from a 
 core in the centre, and radiating in all directions, 
 so as to form a spherical chevaux-de-frise. Its 
 top rose nearly six feet above the surface of the 
 ground, and high over the artemisias — while its 
 dark rigid spikes contrasting with their frosted 
 foliage, rendered it a conspicuous landmark that 
 <}0uld be seen afar off upon the plain. 
 
 Staggering on till he stood by it, Hamersley
 
 176 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 dropped down on its eastern side, wliere its dark 
 shadow gave him protection from the sun, still 
 fervid though setting ; while that of "Walt Wilder 
 was again projected to its full length upon the 
 plain, as, with the rifle across his shoulder, and 
 the turkey-buzzard dangling adown his thigh, he 
 took his departure from the spot — going eastward 
 towards the riclge but dimly discernible in the 
 distance.
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 A HUNTRESS. 
 
 *Co3iE, Lolita! clieer up, my pretty pet! Two 
 leagues more, and you shall bury that velvet 
 muzzle of yours in the soft gramma grass, and 
 cool your heated hoofs in the valley stream. Ay, 
 and you shall have a half peck of pinon nuts for 
 jour supper, I promise you. You've done well 
 to-day, hut don't novr let us he belated. At night 
 you know we might get lost on the llano, and the 
 coyotes would eat us both up. That would be a 
 sad thing, mia yegua. y\Q must not let the jackals 
 have a chance to dispose of us in that manner. 
 Adelante r 
 
 ' LoHta ' was a pretty mustang mare of golden 
 yellow colour, Tvdth white mane and tail ; while 
 the person thus apostrophising her was a girl 
 seated upon her back. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 It was a beautiful girl, apparently under twenty 
 years of age, but with a certain commanding mien 
 that gave her the appearance of being older. Her 
 complexion, though white, had a tinge of that 
 golden brown, or olivine, characteristic of the An- 
 dalusian skin; Y\-hile scimitar - shaped eyebrows, 
 with tresses of silken texture, black as the sha- 
 dows of night, with a dark down on the upper 
 lip, still more plainly proclaimed the Moorish ad- 
 mixtm*e. 
 
 It was a face of lovely cast and almost Grecian 
 contour, the features of classic regularity ; while 
 the absence of obliquity in the orb of the eye — 
 despite her Moorish complexion — forbade the be- 
 lief in Indian blood. 
 
 Although in a part of the world where this 
 might have been expected, there was in truth not 
 a taint of it in her veins. The olive tint was 
 Hispano - Moriscan ; a complexion, if not more 
 beautiful, certainly more picturesque than that of 
 the fair Saxon. 
 
 "VYith the damask-red dancing out upon her 
 cheeks and eyes, aglow from the equestrian ex-
 
 A HUNTRESS. 179 
 
 ercise she had been taking, the young girl looked 
 the picture of physical health, while the tranquil 
 expression upon her features told of mental con- 
 tentment. 
 
 Strangest of all were her equipments and 
 surroundings. She bestrode her mustang man- 
 fashion — the mode of Mexico; v\-hile a light 
 fowling-piece, suspended en hanclouliere , hung 
 down behind her back. 
 
 A woollen serape of finest woof lay scarf-like 
 across her left shoulder, half-concealing a vel- 
 veteen vest or spencer, close-buttoned over the 
 rounded hemispheres of her bosom. Below, an 
 embroidered skirt — the enac/ua — was continued by 
 a pair of white calzoncillas, falling over her small 
 feet, that were booted and spurred. 
 
 On her head was a hat of soft vicuna wool, 
 with a band of bullion, and a bordering of gold 
 lace around the rim. 
 
 This, with her attitude on horseback — that 
 would appear outre in the eyes of a stranger to her 
 country — the gun and its concomitant accoutre- 
 ments, might have given her a masculine appear-
 
 i8o THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 ance ; and at the first glance Lave caused her to 
 be mistaken for a man — a beardless youth. 
 
 But the long silken tresses scattered loosely 
 over her shoulders, the finely -cut features, the 
 delicate texture of the skin, the petticoat skirt, 
 the small hand, and slender tapering fingers 
 stretched forward to caress the neck of the mus- 
 tang mare — were signs of femininity not to be 
 mistaken. 
 
 A woman — a huntress; this last farther de- 
 clared by a brace of hounds — large dogs of the 
 mastiff-bloodhound breed — follovdng at the heels 
 of the horse. And a huntress who had been 
 successful in the cha^e ; as was proved by two 
 pronghorn antelopes, with skanks tied together, 
 lying like saddle-bags along Lolita's flanks. 
 
 The mustang mare needed no spur beyond the 
 sound of that sweet w^ell-known voice. At the 
 word adelante (forward) she pricked up her ears, 
 gave a w^ave to her snow-white tail, and broke 
 into a gentle canter, the hounds following at a 
 long stretching trot. 
 
 For about ten minutes w^as this pace con-
 
 A HUNTRESS. 
 
 tinued ; when a bird flying across her course, so 
 close that its wings almost brushed Lolita's snout, 
 caused her mistress to lean back in the saddle 
 and check her up. 
 
 The bird was a black vulture — a zopilote. It 
 was not slowly soaring in the usual way, but 
 shooting in a direct line, and swiftly as an arrow 
 sent from the bow. 
 
 This it was that brought the huntress to a 
 halt; and she for a time remained motionless, 
 her eye following the vulture in its flight. 
 
 It was seen to join a flock of its fellows, so far 
 off as to look like specks. The young girl could 
 perceive that they were not flying in any particular 
 direction, but soaring in circles, as if over some 
 quarry that lay below. Whatever it was, they did 
 not appear to have yet touched it. All kept aloft, 
 none of them alighting on the ground, though at 
 times swooping down and skimming close to the 
 tops of the sage bushes with which the plain was 
 thickly covered. 
 
 These last prevented the huntress from seeing 
 what lay upon the ground ; though she knew there
 
 1 82 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 must be sometliing to have attracted the concourse 
 of zopilotes. She had eYidently enough knowledge 
 of the desert to understand its signs ; and this 
 was one of a significant character. It not only- 
 challenged her curiosity, but seemed to court 
 investigation. 
 
 * Something gone down yonder, and not yet 
 dead,' she muttered, in interrogative soliloquy. 
 ^ I wonder what it can be. I never look on those 
 filthy birds without fear. Santisshna! how 
 they made me shudder, that time when they 
 flapped their black wings in my own face ! I 
 pity any disabled creature threatened by them — 
 even if it were but a coyote. It may be that, or 
 an antelope. Nothing else likely to become their 
 prey on this bare plain. Come, Lolita ! let us go 
 and see what they're after. It will take us a little 
 out of our way, and give you some extra work. 
 You won't mind that, my pet? I know you 
 won't.' 
 
 The mare came round at a slight pressure 
 upon the rein ; and then recommenced her canter 
 in the direction of the soaring flock.
 
 A HUNTRESS. 183 
 
 A mile passed over, and the birds were brouglit 
 near. But still the object attracting them could 
 not be seen. It might be down among the arte- 
 misias ; or perhaps behind a large j'ucca, whose 
 dark whorl rose several feet above the sage, and 
 over which the vultures were wheeling. 
 
 As the fair equestrienne had got within gun- 
 shot distance of the yucca plant, she checked her 
 mustang to a slower pace — to a walk, in short. 
 In the spectacle of death, still more in the 
 struggles of an expiring creature — even though 
 it be but a dumb brute — there is something that 
 never fails to excite commiseration, mingled with 
 a feeling of awe. This last had come over her, 
 as she drew near the spot over which the birds 
 were hovering. 
 
 It had not occurred to her that the object of 
 "their presence might be a human being ; though 
 it was a remembrance of this kind that was 
 causing her to ride forward so slowl}^ and re- 
 flectively. Once in her life, with others around 
 her who were near and dear, she had been the 
 object of eager solicitude to a flock of zopilotes.
 
 1 84 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 Not the sKglitest tliouglit of its being a human 
 creature that caused their gathering now ; there, 
 upon the Llano Estacado, so rarely trodden by- 
 human feet — and even shunned by almost every 
 species of animal. 
 
 As she di-eYv- still nearer, a black disk, dimly 
 outlined against the dark green leaves of the 
 yucca, upon scrutiny betrayed the form of a bird 
 itself — a vulture. It was dead, hanging half- 
 impaled upon the sharp spikes of the plant, as if 
 it had been hung there, or had fallen from above. 
 
 A smile curled upon the lips of the fair eques- 
 trienne as she saw it. 
 
 * So, Lolita !' she said, bringing the mare to a. 
 stand and half-turning her, ^ I've been losing my 
 time and you your labour. The abominable birds 
 — it's only one of themselves that has fallen. Ay 
 dc m i r 
 
 She continued, again facing toward the dead 
 vultui-e : 
 
 ' I wonder if they are only waking it ; or if the 
 wakers are cannibals, and mean to make a meal 
 of one of their own kind. That would be a curious
 
 A HUNTRESS. 
 
 fact for our natural historian, Don Prospero. I 
 think I shall stay awhile and see.' 
 
 For a moment she seemed undecided as to 
 staying or going. Only for a moment ; an inci- 
 dent occurring that changed the current of her 
 thoughts from scientific curiosity to something 
 aldn to fear. 
 
 The hloodhounds, that had fallen behind in 
 her gallop across the plain, now closed up, and, 
 instead of stopping by the tail of Lolita, rushed 
 on towards the yucca. It was not the odour of the 
 dead buzzard — strong as that may have been — 
 that attracted them on ; but the scent of what 
 was more congenial to their sanguinary instincts. 
 
 On arriving at the yucca, they ran around to 
 the opposite side of the plant, and then sprang 
 growling back, as if something standing on the 
 defensive had suddenly brought them to bay. 
 
 'A wounded wolf, doubtless,' was the mut- 
 tered reflection of theii* mistress. 
 
 It had scarce passed her lips when she was 
 made aware of her mistake. Above the continued 
 howling of the hounds, she could distinguish the
 
 1 86 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 tones of a human voice ; and at the same instant, 
 a man's head and hand appeared above the spikes 
 of the plant — the latter clutching the handle of a 
 long-bladed and bloody knife ! 
 
 It was this that had brought the dogs to bay.
 
 Wi^/^"^ 
 
 ^^^^m 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 'down, dogs!' 
 
 Notwithstanding lier apparent sang-froid, and 
 the presence of mind she evidently possessed, the 
 rider of LoHta was affrighted — far more than the 
 Yultures that had soared higher at sight and 
 hearing of the /racas. 
 
 And no wonder that she was affrighted at such 
 a strange apparition : the head of a man, with 
 a dark beard upon his face, holding in his hand 
 a blade that showed blood upon it ! This too in 
 such a strange place ! 
 
 Her first thought was to turn Lolita's head 
 and gallop off from the spot ; then a reflection 
 stayed her. The man was evidently alone; and 
 the expression of his face was not that of villany or 
 anger. The colour of his skin, and the beard, 
 bespoke him a white man, and not an Indian.
 
 1 88 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 Besides, there was pallor upon liis cheeks — a wan 
 wasted look, that told of suffering, not sin. 
 
 All this the quick eye of the huntress took in 
 at a glance, resohing her how to act. Instead 
 of galloping away, she spurred the mustang on 
 towards the yucca. 
 
 When close up to it, she threw herself out of 
 the saddle, and whip in hand rushed up to the 
 hounds, that were still giving tongue, and threat- 
 ening an attack upon the stranger. 
 
 * Ahajo, 2^c^'J'os/ ahajo, feos r (Down, dogs! 
 down, you ugly hrutes !) 
 
 'A tierra!' she continued to exclaim, giving 
 each a sharp cut, that at once reduced them to 
 quiescence, causing them to cower at her feet. 
 * Do not you see the mistake you have made ?' she 
 went on, still addressing the dogs ; ' don't you see 
 the cavallero is not an Indian ? It is well, sir,' she 
 added, now turning to the ' cavallero,' ^ that your 
 skin is white. Had it been copper-coloured, I'm 
 not certain I could have saved you from getting 
 it scratched. My pets here are not partial to the 
 American aboriginal.'
 
 DOWN, DOGS! 189 
 
 During these somewhat bizarre speeches, and 
 the actions that accompanied them, Frank Hamers- 
 ley — for it was he — stood in staring and silent 
 wonder. What saw he before him ? Two large 
 and fierce-looking dogs, a horse oddly caparisoned, 
 a 3^oung girl, scarce a woman, strangely and pic- 
 turesquely garbed. ^\Tiat had he heard? First 
 the loud baying of bloodhounds, threatening to 
 tear him to pieces, then a voice sweQ,t and musical 
 as the warbling of a bird ! 
 
 Was it all a dream ? 
 
 Dreaming he had been, when aroused by the 
 growling of the hounds. But that was a horrid 
 vision . "Wliat he now saw was the very reverse. 
 Demons had been assaulting him in his sleep. 
 IsTow an angel stood before his face. 
 
 The young girl had ceased speaking ere the 
 vertigo, caused by his sudden uprising, had cleared 
 away from his brain, and he began to believe in 
 the reality of the objects around him. 
 
 The shock of surprise had imparted a mo- 
 mentaiy strength, that soon passed ; and his feeble- 
 ness once more returning, he would have fallen
 
 I90 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 back to the earth, had he not clutched at the 
 yucca, whose stiff blades sustained him. 
 
 ' Valga me, DiosI' exclaimed the girl, now 
 more clearly perceiving his condition. ' Valga me, 
 Diosf she repeated in a compassionate tone, 'you 
 are suffering, sir? Is it hunger? Is it thirst? 
 You have been lost upon the Llano Estacado ?' 
 
 ' Hunger — thirst — both, senorita,' said Ham- 
 ersley, speaking for the first time. ' For days 
 I have not tasted either food or drink.' 
 
 * Virgen santissima ! is it so ?' 
 
 And as she said this, the huntress ran towards 
 her horse, and jerking a little wallet from the horn 
 of the saddle, along with a suspended gourd, came 
 instantly back again. 
 
 * Here, senor ! ' she said, plunging her hand 
 into the bag, and bringing forth some cold tor- 
 tillas ; * here is all I have : I've been the whole 
 day from home, and the rest is eaten. Here — take 
 the water first. Xo doubt you need drink most. 
 I remember how I suffered myself. Mix some of 
 this with it. It will give you strength more than 
 anything.'
 
 DOWN, DOGS ! 191 
 
 As she spoke she handed him the gourd, which 
 by its weight contained over a pint ; and then from 
 another and smaller one she poured some liquid 
 first into the water, and then over the tortillas. 
 It was yinegar, in which there was an infusion of 
 chile Colorado, 
 
 *Am I not robbing you?' asked Hamersley, 
 as he cast a significant glance out over the wide 
 sterile plain. 
 
 ' No — no ! I am not in need ; besides, I have 
 not a great way to go to where I can get a fresh 
 supply. Drink, seuor ! — drink it all.' 
 
 In ten seconds after, the calabash was empty. 
 
 ' Now eat the tortillas. 'Tis but poor fare, 
 but the chile vinagre will be sure to refresh and 
 strengthen you. We who dwell in the desert 
 know that.' 
 
 Her words proved true; for after swallowing 
 a few morsels of the bread she had besprinkled, 
 Hamersley felt as if some restorative medicine 
 had been administered to him. 
 
 *Do you think you would be able to ride, 
 senor ?' she asked.
 
 192 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 * I could walk — though perhaps not very far.' 
 
 * If you can ride, there is no need for your 
 walking. You can mount my mare. I shall go 
 afoot. It is not very far — only six miles.' 
 
 ' But, seiiorita,' protested Hamersley, ' I must 
 not leave this spot.' 
 
 'Indeed!' she exclaimed, turning upon her 
 protege a look of surprise. * For what reason, 
 seuor? To stay here would he to perish. You 
 have no companions to assist you ?' 
 
 ' I have companions — at least one. That is 
 why I must remain here. "V\Tiether he may re- 
 turn to assist me, I know not. He has gone off 
 in search of water. In any case he will he certain 
 to return.' 
 
 ' But why should you stay for him ?' 
 
 ' Need you ask, seuorita ? He is my comrade, 
 true and faithful. He has heen the sharer of my 
 dangers — of late no common ones. If he were to 
 come hack here and find me gone — ' 
 
 ' ^Tiat would that signify, cavallero ? He will 
 know where to go after you.* 
 
 ' How should he know ?'
 
 DOIVX, DOGS! 193 
 
 ' 0, that will be easy enough. Leave it to 
 me. Are you sure he can find the Tvay back to 
 this place ?' 
 
 * Quite sure. This jnicca will guide him. He 
 noted it before leaving.' 
 
 '■ In that case, senor, there can be no reason 
 for your remaining. On the contrary, I see that 
 you need better care than 3'ou could have among 
 these sage-plants. I know one who can give it. 
 Come with me, cavallero ! By the time your com- 
 rade can get back, I shall send one to meet him. 
 Lest he should return before my messenger arrive, 
 this will save him from going astray.' 
 
 As she spoke, she drew forth a small slip of 
 paper from beneath her velvet vest, and along with 
 it a pencil. She was about to write upon it, when 
 a thought restrained her. 
 
 ' Does your comrade understand Spanish ?' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' Only a word or two. He speaks English, or, 
 as we call it, American.' 
 
 ' Can he read?' 
 
 * Indifferently. Enough, I suppose, for — ' 
 VOL. I. o
 
 I94 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 ' Senor,' she said, interrupting him, ' I need 
 not ask if you can write. Take this, and write 
 in your own language. Say you are gone south, 
 due south, to a distance of ahout six miles. Tell 
 him to stay here, and some one will come on to 
 meet and guide him to where you can be found/ 
 
 Hamersley perceived the rationality of these in- 
 structions. There was no reason why he should 
 not do as desired, and at once go with her who 
 gave them. By staying, some mischance might 
 still happen, and he might never see his strange 
 rescuer again. Who could tell what would arise in 
 the midst of that mysterious desert? By going he 
 would the sooner be able to send back succour 
 to his comrade. 
 
 He hesitated no longer, but wrote upon the 
 piece of paper, in large carefully inscribed letters 
 — so that the ci-devant ranger would have no diffi- 
 culty in deciphering them : 
 
 ' Saved by an angel/ Strike due south. Sic 
 miles from here you icillfind me. There is a horse, 
 and you canfolloiv his tracks. If you stay here for 
 a time, one ivill come to guide you.'
 
 DOWN, DOGS! 195 
 
 The huntress took the paper from his hand, 
 and glanced at the writing, as if out of curi- 
 osity to scan the script of a language unknown 
 to her. But something like a smile playing 
 around her lips might have led one to believe 
 that she had divined the meaning of the initial 
 sentence. 
 
 She made no remark, however; but, stepping 
 forward to the yucca and reaching up, she impaled 
 the piece of paper on its topmost spike. 
 
 * Now, cavallero,' she said, * you mount my 
 mare. See, she stands ready for you.' 
 
 Hamersley again protested; saying he could 
 walk well enough — though his tottering steps 
 contradicted him. 
 
 He urged his objections in vain. 
 
 The young girl appealingly persisted ; until at 
 length, for once in his life, his gallantry had 
 to give way, and he climbed reluctantly into the 
 saddle. 
 
 'Now, Lolita!' said her mistress, * see that 
 your step is sure, or you sha'n't have the pinons 
 I promised you. Nos vamos, sefior /'
 
 196 
 
 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Saying this, she stepped off through the sage, 
 the mustang keeping by her side; and the two 
 great hounds, like a rear-guard, bringing up at 
 some distance behind.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN OASIS. 
 
 Frank Hamersley rode on, wondering at his 
 strange guide. Such a lovely being encountered 
 in such an out-of-the-way corner of the world, in 
 the midst of a treeless, waterless desert, over a hun- 
 dred miles from the nearest civilised settlement! 
 
 ^Slio was she ? Where had she come from ? 
 Whither was she conducting him ? 
 
 To the last question he would soon have an 
 answer ; for as they advanced she now and again 
 spoke words to encourage him, telling him they 
 would soon arrive at a place of rest. 
 
 ' Yonder !' she at length exclaimed, pointing 
 to two mound-shaped elevations that rose twin-like 
 above the level of the plain.- ' Between them lies
 
 198 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 our path. Once there, we shall not have much 
 farther to go. The rancho will be in sight.' 
 
 The young prairie merchant made no reply. 
 He only thought of how strange it all was — the 
 beautiful being by his side — her dash — her wonder- 
 ful knowledge, exhibited with such an air of naivete 
 — her generous behaviour — the picturesqueness 
 of her dress — her hunter equipments — the great 
 dogs trotting at her heels — the dead game on the 
 croup behind him — the animal he bestrode — all 
 were before his mind, and mingling in his thoughts, 
 like the unreal phantasmagoria of a dream. 
 
 And not any more like reality was the scene 
 disclosed to his view, when, after passing around 
 the nearest of the twin mound-shaped hills, and 
 entering a gate -like gorge that opened between 
 them, he saw before him and below, hundreds of 
 feet below, a valley of elliptical form, like a vast 
 basin scooped out from the plain. But for its oval 
 shape he might have deemed it the crater of some 
 extinct volcano. And then, where was the lava 
 that should have been projected from it ? With 
 the exception of the two hillocks on each hand, all
 
 AN OASIS. 199 
 
 the country around, far as the eye could reach, was 
 level as the bosom of a placid lake. Like anything 
 but a crater was the concavity itself. No gloom 
 down there, no black scoriae, no returning streams 
 of lava, nor debris of pumice-stone ; but, on the 
 contrary, a smiling vegetation^trees \\'ith foliage 
 of different shades of green, among which could 
 be distinguished the frondage of the live-oak and 
 pecan, the more brilliant verdure of the alamos, 
 and the flower-loaded branches of the wild China- 
 tree. In their midst was a glassy disk that told 
 of standing water, with here and there a fleck of 
 white foam that spoke of cool cascades and cata- 
 racts. Near the lakelet that shone in the centre, 
 a tiny column of blue smoke rising up over the 
 tree-tops indicated the presence of a dwelling ; and 
 as they advanced a little farther into the gorge, 
 the house itself could be descried. 
 
 In contrast with the dreary plain over which 
 he had been so long toiling, to Hamersley it 
 seemed a Paradise, worthy to be the home of the 
 Peri who was conducting him to it. It resembled 
 a landscape painted upon the concave sides of an
 
 200 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 oval-shaped basin, with the cloudless sky, like a 
 vast cover of blue glass, arching above. 
 
 The scene seemed scarcely real ; and once 
 more the young prairie merchant began to doubt 
 the evidence of his senses. After all, was it only 
 a vision of his brain — distempered by the long 
 strain upon his mind, and the agony he had been 
 enduring ? Or was it but the mirage of the desert 
 plain, that had so oft already deceived him ? 
 
 His doubts were dispelled by that sweet voice 
 breaking once more upon his ear. 
 
 ' 'Mira, cavallero ! you see where you are 
 going now. It is not far; but you will have to 
 keep a firm seat in the saddle, for the next hun- 
 dred yards or so. There is a steep descent, and 
 a narrow pathway. Take good hold with your 
 knees, and trust altogether to the mare. She 
 knows the way well, and will bear you in safety. 
 Won't you, Lolita ? You will, my pet.' 
 
 As she said this, the mustang gave a soft 
 whimper, as if answering her interrogatory. 
 
 ' Well, I shall myself go before. So loose the 
 rein, and leave Lolita to her own way, seiior.'
 
 AA' OASIS. 
 
 On giving this injunction, she turned abruptly 
 to the right, where a path that seemed almost 
 perpendicular led along a ledge, traversing the 
 fa9ade of the cliff". Still close followed by the 
 mustang, she advanced fearlessly along it. 
 
 It seemed a most dangerous descent, even for 
 one afoot ; and if left to his own will, Hamersley 
 would have declined attempting it on horseback. 
 But he had no choice now; for before he could 
 have made either expostulation or protest, Lolita 
 had struck out along the ledge, and was hastening 
 on, her hind-quarters high up in the air, and her 
 neck extended in the opposite direction, as if 
 standing upon her head ! To her rider there was 
 no alternative but do as he had been directed — 
 stick to the saddle. This he did by throwing his 
 feet forward, and laying his back flat along the 
 croup, till his shoulders rested between the crossed 
 shanks of the pronghorns. 
 
 In this position he remained, without saying a 
 word, or even daring to look below ; till he at 
 length found himself moving forward with his 
 face upturned to the sky, and thus discovered that
 
 202 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 the animal he bestrode was once more progressing 
 along a nearly horizontal path. 
 
 'Now, senor,' said the voice of Lolita's mis- 
 tress, * you can sit upright ; the danger is past. 
 You have behaved well, mia yegua — yeguita /' she 
 added, patting the mare upon the neck ; * you 
 shall have the promised pinons — a whole cuartilla 
 of them.' 
 
 Once more stepping to the front, she struck 
 off among the trees, along a path which still in- 
 clined downward, though only in a gentle slope. 
 
 Hamersley's brain was in a whirl. The strange 
 scenes, things, thoughts, and fancies, were weav- 
 ing weird spells around him ; and once more he 
 began to think that his senses either had forsaken, 
 or were forsaking him. 
 
 This time it was so : for the long-protracted 
 suffering — the waste of blood and loss of strength 
 — only spasmodically resuscitated by the excite- 
 ment of the strange encounter — was now being 
 followed by a fever of the brain, that was in reality 
 depriving him of his reason. 
 
 He remembered riding on for some distance
 
 AN OASIS. 203 
 
 farther — under trees, whose leafy houghs formed 
 an arcade over his head, shutting out the sun — 
 and then all around became suddenly illumined, 
 as the mustang bore him out into an opening, 
 with what appeared a log-cabin in the centre. He 
 saw, or fancied he saw, several men by its door ; 
 and as the mare came to a stop in their midst, 
 his fair conductor turned towards him, suddenly 
 exclaiming : 
 
 * Virgen santissima ! Lay hold of him ! Quick; 
 take hold of him !' 
 
 Then one of the bystanders sprang forward, 
 but whether to be kind, or to kill, he could not 
 tell ; for before the man had placed a hand on 
 him, the strange tableau faded from his sight, and 
 death, with all its dark obliviousness, seemed to 
 take possession of his soul.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A COMRADE ' GONE UNDER.' 
 
 The shadow of Walt Wilder was again cast over 
 the Staked Plain, and to a gigantic length ; but 
 this time westwardly, from a sun that was rising 
 instead of setting. It was the morning after he 
 had parted with his disabled companion ; and he 
 was now making back towards the spot where he 
 had left him, the sun's disk just showing above 
 the horizon of the plain, and shining straight 
 upon his back. There it illuminated an object 
 not seen before ; and which gave to Walt's shadow 
 a shape still more weird and fantastic. It was 
 now that of a giant, with something sticking out 
 on each side of his head that resembled a pair of 
 horns, or as if his neck was embraced by an ox-
 
 A COMRADE GONE UNDER. 205 
 
 yoke, the tines of which projected diagonally out- 
 ward. 
 
 On looking at Walt himself, the singularity 
 was at once understood. The carcass of a deer 
 lay transversely across his hack, the legs of the 
 animal heing fastened together so as to form a 
 sling, through which he had thrust his head — 
 leaving the long slender shanks, like the ends of 
 the letter X, slanting out on each side of his chin, 
 and rising above his shoulders. 
 
 Despite the load thus borne by him, the step 
 of the ex-ranger was no longer that of a man 
 either despairing or fatigued. On the contrary, it 
 was light and elastic, while his countenance looked 
 gay and joyous as the beams of the ascending sun. 
 His very shadow seemed to flit over the frosted 
 foliage of the artemisias as lightly as the figure of 
 a gossamer-robed belle gliding across the floor of 
 a ballroom. 
 
 Walt Wilder no longer hungered or thirsted. 
 Though the carcass on his back was still un- 
 skinned, a huge collop cut out of one of its hind- 
 quarters showed he had satisfied the first craving ;
 
 2o6 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 while the gurgle of water, heard inside the tin 
 canteen hanging under his arm, proclaimed that 
 the second had been also appeased. 
 
 He was now hastening on to the relief of his 
 comrade — happy in the thought of being able soon 
 to relieve him from his sufferings. 
 
 Striding lightly among the sages, and looking 
 ahead for the landmark that was to guide him, he 
 at length came in sight of it. The palmilla, rising 
 like a huge porcupine above the plain, could not 
 be mistaken ; and he saw it at more than a mile's 
 distance, although the shadow of his head was 
 already flickering among its bayonet-like blades. 
 
 At that moment something else came before 
 his eyes, that changed the expression upon his 
 countenance. From gay it became grave, serious, 
 apprehensive. A flock of buzzards, seemingly 
 scared by his shadow, had suddenly flapped up 
 from among the sage-plants, and were now soar- 
 ing around, close to the tops of the palmilla. 
 They had evidently been down upon the ground : 
 what could they have been doing there ? 
 
 It was this question, mentally put by Walt
 
 A COMRADE GONE UNDER. 207 
 
 Wilder, that had caused that quick change in his 
 countenance — a change from gay thought to pain- 
 ful conjecture. 
 
 ' Marciful heaven !' he exclaimed ; suddenly- 
 making halt, the rifle almost dropping from his 
 grasp. * Ban it be possyble ? Frank Hamersley 
 gone under ! Them buzzarts ! They've been upon 
 the grown to a sartinty. Darnashin ! what ked 
 they a been doin' down thar? Right by the 
 bunch 0' palmetto, jest whar I left him. An' no 
 sign of himself to be seen ? Marciful heaven ! 
 kin it be possyble ?' 
 
 He remained for a while silent and motion- 
 less, as if paralysed by apprehension, mechanically 
 scanning the yucca, as though from it he expected 
 an answer to his interrogatory. 
 
 ' It air possyble,' he continued after a time ; 
 ' too possyble — too likesome. He war well-nigh 
 done up, poor fellar — an' no wonder. Whar is he 
 now ? He must be down by the side 0' the bush — 
 doivn an' dead. Ef he war alive, he'd be lookin' 
 out for me. By the Etarnal ! he's gone under ; 
 an' this deer-meat, this water, purcured to no
 
 2o8 THE LOXE RAXCHE. 
 
 purpiss. I mout as well throw both away : they'll 
 come too late.' 
 
 Once more resuming his forward stride, he 
 advanced towards the dark mass above which the 
 vultures were soaring. His shadow still by a 
 long distance preceding him, had frightened the 
 birds higher up into the air : but they showed no 
 signs of going altogether away. On the contrary, 
 they kept circling around, as if they had already 
 commenced a repast ; and although driven away, 
 intended to return to it. On what had they been 
 banqueting ? On the body of his comrade ? What 
 else could be there ? 
 
 The ex-ranger was still advancing, his heart 
 agonised with apprehension, when his eye alighted 
 on the piece of paper impaled upon the topmost 
 spike of the yucca-plant. It gave him relief, but 
 only for an instant, his conjectures again leading 
 him astray. 
 
 'Poor young fellar !' was the half-spoken re- 
 flection ; ' he's wrote somethin' to tell how he died 
 — mayhap somethin' for me to carry back to the 
 dear uns he's left behind in ole Kaintuck. Wall,
 
 A COMRADE GONE UNDER. 209 
 
 that thing shall sartinly be done, ef ever this 
 child sets in the States agin. Darnation ! only 
 to think how near I war to savin' him ; a whole 
 doe-deer, an' water enough to a-drownded him ! 
 Ye may lie thar, ye useless venison. I don't care 
 no more to put tooth into ye. Frank Hamersley 
 gone under ! — the man 0' all others I'd a died to 
 keep alive. I'd jest as soon lie down now, an' 
 stop breathin' by the side 0' him.' 
 
 While speaking he had flung the deer's car- 
 cass to the ground; and stalked on, leaving it 
 behind him. 
 
 A few strides brought him so near to the 
 yucca, that he could see the ground surface by 
 its base. There was something black among the 
 stems of the sage bushes. It was not the dead 
 ])ody of a man, l)ut a buzzard, which he knew to 
 be that he had shot before starting off. The 
 sight of it caused him again to make stop. It 
 looked draggled and torn, as if partially dismem- 
 bered. 
 
 * Kin he hev been eatin' it ? Or war it them- 
 selves, the cussed kannybals ? Poor Frank, I 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 reck'n I'll find him on t'other side, looking man- 
 gled in the same way. Darn it, 'tair keurous too. 
 'Twair on this side he laid down to git shade from 
 the sun. I seed him squat whiles I was walkin' 
 away. The sun ain't hot enuf yit to a druv him 
 to westwart o' the hush, though thar for sartin he 
 must be. WTiat's the use o' my stannin' shilly- 
 shally hyar? I may as well face the sight at 
 oncest, ugly as I know it'll prove. Hyar goes.' 
 
 Steeling himself for the terrible spectacle, which 
 he believed was certainly awaiting him, he once 
 more advanced towards the yucca. 
 
 A dozen strides brought him up, and less than 
 half-a-dozen more carried him around it. 
 
 No body, living or dead — no remains of one, 
 mutilated or otherwise ! 
 
 Horse -tracks he saw there at a glance, and 
 other signs that told of the late presence of human 
 beings upon the spot — at least one besides the 
 comrade he had believed to be dead. 
 
 No proof yet that he was not dead ; only the 
 glimmer of a hope. And now he reached out 
 with his long arm, and eagerly clutched the piece
 
 A COMRADE GONE UNDER. 211 
 
 of paper hitherto untouched. He had believed it 
 but a dying record — a chapter of directions to 
 be read after death, and not till he had the full 
 visible assurance of it. It might be something 
 else? 
 
 His huge hands trembled and his whole frame 
 quivered, as he held the piece of paper open between 
 them. 
 
 ' Saved hy an angel /' He read no farther until 
 after giving utterance to a 'hurrah!' that might 
 have been heard many miles over the Staked Plain. 
 Then more tranquillised, he continued deciphering 
 the chirography of his comrade to the end, when 
 a second shout terminated the effort. 
 
 * Saved by an angel !' he went on muttering to 
 himself. * A angel on the Staked Plain ! Whar 
 ked the critter hev come from ? No matter whar. 
 Thar's been one hyar, for sartint. Darn me, ef I 
 don't smell the sweet o' her pettikotes now ! This 
 piece o' paper — 'tain't Frank's. I don't knows he 
 hed a scrap about him. No. Thar's the scent 0' 
 a woman about it, sure ; an' whar thar's a woman, 
 Frank Hamersley ain't likely to be let die 0' star-
 
 212 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 vashun. Wall, I reck'n it's all right now, an' thar 
 ain't so much need ter be in a hurry. 'Twar ray- 
 ther a quick breakfast I hed, an' hain't gin this 
 chile's stammick full saterfacshun. I'll jest chaw 
 another griskin o' the deer-meat, to strengthen me 
 for the six-mile tramp southart.' 
 
 In less than five minutes after, the smoke from 
 a sage-stalk fire was seen ascending from beside 
 the palmilla; and in its blaze, quickly kindled, 
 a huge piece of venison cut from the fat flanks 
 of the doe, weighing at least four pounds, spitted 
 upon one of the stiff blades of the plant, was 
 rapidly turning from red to brown. 
 
 As circumstances had ofttimes compelled the 
 ex-ranger to eat his deer-meat under-done, the 
 habit had become his (joid ; and it was therefore 
 not long before the griskin was removed from the 
 spit ; nor indeed very long till it ceased to be a 
 griskin — having altogether disappeared from his 
 fingers, followed by a gurgling sound, as half the 
 contents of the canteen went washing it down his 
 thioaj. 
 
 ' Now !' he said, springing to his feet, after he
 
 A COMRADE CONE UNDER. 213 
 
 had completed liis Homeric repast, ' this chile 
 feels strong enuf to face the devil hisself, an' thar- 
 for he needn't be backard 'bout the encounterin' o' 
 a angel. So hvar goes to find out Frank Hamers- 
 ley, an' how he's farin. Anj^how, I'll take the 
 deer along, in case thar mout be a scarcity o' 
 eetables ; though I reck'n thar's no fear o' that. 
 Whar a angel makes dwellin'-place, thar oughter 
 be a full crib ; though it mout be ambrosver or 
 mannar, or some 0' them fixius as a paraira man's 
 stammick ain't used to. Anyways, a bit o' doe- 
 deer meat won't do any harm. So, Walt Wilder, 
 ole coon, let's you an' me set our faces southart, 
 an' see what's to turn up at the eend 0' six miles' 
 trackin'.' 
 
 Once more shouldering the carcass, he strode 
 off towards the south, partly guiding himself by 
 the sun, but more by the tracks of the mustang, 
 which, though scarce distinguishable under the 
 overshadowing sage-plants, were seen with little 
 difficulty by an eye experienced as his. 
 
 On went he, now and then muttering to him- 
 self words of wonder, as to what sort of a woman
 
 214 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 had carried off his comrade ; for with all his jo- 
 cular soliloquising, he knew the angel would turn 
 out to he a woman. 
 
 On he went, his gigantic shadow no longer 
 preceding, but keeping step and step by his side.
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 A SWEET AWAKENING. 
 
 The young prairie merchant became conscious that 
 he still existed, by hearing voices. They were the 
 voices of men — two of them ; and were engaged in 
 a conversation that appeared to be carried on with 
 some difficulty, as one was speaking English, which 
 the other only slightly understood. Nor was the 
 English of the first speaker of a very pure kind, 
 but sounded in Hamersley's ear sweeter than music 
 itself, for he recognised the voice as that of Walt 
 Wilder. A joyful pulsation passed through his 
 heart, to know that his comrade had rejoined him. 
 After their parting upon the plain, he had fears 
 that they might never come together again. 
 
 Walt was not within sight, for the conversa-
 
 2i6 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 tion was carried on outside the room. Hamersley 
 saw that he was in a room — a small one, of 
 which the walls were logs, and the furniture fash- 
 ioned in a style of corresponding rudeness. He 
 was lying upon a catrc, or camp-bedstead, rendered 
 soft by a mattress of grizzly-bear skins; while a 
 large serape of bright-coloured pattern was spread 
 over him, serving both for blanket and counter- 
 pane. In the room was a slab-table of the rudest 
 construction, and two or three chairs, evidently 
 made by the hand of the same unskilful workman, 
 their seats being simply antelope skins with the 
 hair on. On the table was a cup with a spoon in 
 it, and two or three small bottles that had the 
 look of containing medicines. 
 
 All these objects came under his eyes at the 
 first dim glance ; but as his sight became clearer, 
 and he felt strength enough to raise his head from 
 the pillow, other articles were disclosed to his view, 
 in strange contrast with the chattels first obsei*ved. 
 Against the wall were several pieces of female 
 apparel — all of a costly kind. There were silks 
 and silk- velvets, richly brocaded ; while on another
 
 A S WEE T A WAKENING. 2 1 7 
 
 table, rough as the first, he could distinguish 
 the bijouterie usually belonging to a lady's toilet. 
 These lay in front of a small mirror set in a frame 
 that appeared to be silver ; while above was sus- 
 pended a beautiful guitar, of the kind known as 
 handolon. He saw all these things with a half- 
 bewildered gaze : for his senses were still far from 
 being clear. The articles of female apparel and 
 toilet, with the guitar, would all have been ap- 
 propriate in a lady's boudoir or bed-room. How 
 singular to see them in juxtaposition with the 
 rough unhewn logs of what was evidently a hum- 
 ble shanty or cabin ! 
 
 Of course he connected them with her — that 
 singular being who had succoured, and perhaps 
 saved his life. He could have no other conjecture. 
 He remembered seeing a cabin as they approached 
 it outside. It must be that he was now in; though 
 from the last conscious thought as he felt him- 
 self fainting in the saddle all had been as blank 
 as if he had been lying lifeless in his tomb. Even 
 yet it might have appeared a dream, but for the 
 voice of "Walt Wilder, who seemed to be labouring
 
 2i8 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 hard to make himself understood by the personage 
 with whom he was in conversation. 
 
 Hamersley was about to utter a cry that would 
 summon his comrade to his side, when he per- 
 ceived that the voices were becoming fainter, as if 
 the two speakers had stepped outside the house, 
 and were strolling away from it. Feeling too 
 weak, even for the exertion of a shout, he re- 
 mained silent, presuming they would soon return. 
 
 It was broad daylight — the sun glancing in 
 through an open space in the wooden wall that 
 served for window. There was neither frame nor 
 glass, and along with the bright beams there came 
 in a delicious fragrance of flowers ; among which 
 he could distinguish the aromatic scent of the 
 sassafras laurel and the wild China-tree. There 
 were voices of birds mingling their music with the 
 sough of falling water — sounds very different from 
 those of the desert in which he had been so long. 
 
 He lay thinking of the beautiful being who 
 had brought him thither, weaving conjectures that 
 might explain the strangeness of the situation. 
 He could not tell how long he had been uncon-
 
 A SWEET A WAKENING. 2 1 9 
 
 scious ; nor had the whole period of it heen like 
 death — unless death have its dreams. For he had 
 had dreams, all of them with that same form and 
 face flitting and hovering near, as if of some angelic 
 guardian. 
 
 A strange circumstance was, that the face 
 seemed familiar to him, or if not familiar, one 
 he had looked upon before. He endeavoured to 
 recall all those he had seen in New Mexico during 
 his visit to it ; for if seen anywhere, it must have 
 been there and then. His female acquaintances 
 had been but few in that strange land. He could 
 remember every one of them. She was not of 
 their number. If he had ever looked upon that 
 face before seeing it upon the desert plain, it 
 must have been while passing along the street of 
 some Mexican city. 
 
 And this could scarcely be, was his silent 
 reflection ; for such a face once seen — even but for 
 a moment — could never be forgotten. 
 
 He lay pondering on all that had passed — on 
 all he could remember. Walt had got back, then, 
 to the place where they had parted. He must
 
 2 20 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 have found food and water — tliougli it now mat- 
 tered no more. Enough that he had got back, 
 and both were now in an asylum of safety, under 
 friendly protection. This was evident from the 
 surroundings. 
 
 Still feeble as a child, these efforts of thought 
 very soon fatigued him ; and this, with the nar- 
 cotic influence of the flower-perfumes, the songs 
 of the birds, and the soothing monotone of the 
 waters, produced a drowsiness that terminated in 
 a profound sleep. This time he slumbered with- 
 out dreaming. 
 
 How long he could not tell; but again was 
 he awakened by voices — as before, of two persons 
 engaged in conversation. But far different from 
 those he had lately heard. The bird-music still 
 pouring in through the window was not sweeter 
 than the tones that now saluted his ear. 
 
 Again the speakers were invisible — outside the 
 room — but he could tell that they were near the 
 door, and the first words heard admonished him 
 of their design to enter. 
 
 ' Come, Conchita ! bring the wine with you.
 
 A SWEET AWAKENING. 221 
 
 You remember Dou Prospero said we must give it 
 to him at this hour.' 
 
 ' Senorita, I have it here.' 
 
 ' Vaya ! you have forgotten to bring the glass. 
 You surely would not have him drink out of the 
 bottle ?' 
 
 ^ Ay de mi! and so I have/ responded Con- 
 chita, apparently running back, and possessing 
 herself of the required article. 
 
 *Ish!' cautioned the other voice; ^ if he be 
 still asleep, we must not awake him. Don Pro- 
 spero said that. Step lightly, girl.' 
 
 Hamersley was awake, with his eyes wide 
 open, and his consciousness quite restored. But 
 at that moment something — he could scarcely 
 have told what — caused him to counterfeit sleep ; 
 and he lay still with shut eyelids. He could hear 
 the door turning upon its hinges of raw hide, the 
 soft rustle of robes — he could feel around him 
 that inexpressible something that denotes the sweet 
 gentle presence of woman. 
 
 *Yes, he is asleep,' said the first speaker; 
 ' for the world we must not disturb him. We
 
 222 THE LONE RANG HE, 
 
 can wait till he awake. Don Prospero left that 
 direction, did he not ?' 
 ' He did, senorita.' 
 
 * Well, we must do exactly as he said ; for you 
 know, Conchita, this gentleman has been in great 
 danger. Thanks to the good Virgin, he will get 
 over it. Don Prospero is sure of it.' 
 
 ' What a pity if he should not ! senorita, 
 isn't he — ' 
 
 * Isn't he what ?' 
 
 * So handsome — so very beautiful. He looks 
 like a picture I've seen in the church ; an angel — 
 only that the angel had wings, and no mustaches.' 
 
 * Pif, girl ! Don't speak in that way, or I shall 
 be angry with you. V ay ate ! you may take away 
 the wine. We can come again when he awakes. 
 Tread lightly.' 
 
 Again there was the swishing of drapery ; but 
 this time as if only one of the speakers was 
 moving off. The other seemed still to linger by 
 the side of the couch. 
 
 The invalid knew which it was. There was an 
 electricity that told him ; and for an instant he
 
 A SWEET AWAKENING. 223 
 
 thought of opening his eyes, and proclaiming that 
 he was awake. A thought restrained him — deli- 
 cacy. The lady might believe that he had been 
 awake, and overheard the conversation. It had 
 been in Spanish, but she knew that he understood 
 this — for he had no doubt that the ' senorita' was 
 she who had conducted him thither. 
 
 He remained without moving — without un- 
 closing his eyes. But his ears were open, and 
 he heard, what gave him more joy, and perhaps 
 more strength, than any potion Don Prospero 
 could have prescribed, or Conchita administered. 
 
 It came in the shape of a soliloquy — only a few 
 words softly spoken, and not intended to be heard. 
 
 * It is true what Conchita says, and what Vale- 
 rian told me. He is indeed beautiful /' 
 
 The drapery again rustled, and the door 
 creaked upon its leathern hinges — opening and 
 closing. 
 
 But before it had been quite shut-to, it was 
 once more pushed open ; the invalid having signi- 
 fied by a slight cough that sleep had forsaken him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 DON VALERIAN. 
 
 Hamersley, with head upraised upon the pillow, 
 looked eagerly towards the re -opening door. He 
 saw what he had heen expecting — what he had 
 seen in fancy throughout his long fevered dream — 
 the fair form and beautiful face that had so much 
 interested him, even in that hour when life 
 seemed to be forsaking him. 
 
 There was a red tinge upon the cheek, that 
 appeared to have flushed up suddenly, as if the 
 young girl suspected that her soliloquy had been 
 heard. She had spoken it the instant before. 
 The words had but parted from her lips, and the 
 thought was yet thrilling in her heart. Could he 
 have heard her? He showed no sign. 
 
 She approached the couch with a look of soli-
 
 DON VALERIAN. 225 
 
 citude, mingled with interrogation. A hand was 
 held out to her, and a word spoken that told her 
 she was recognised. Her eyes sparkled ^ith joy ; 
 as she saw in those of the invalid that reason had 
 once more become seated upon its throne. 
 
 * I am so happy,' she said, * we are all so happy, 
 to know you are out of danger. Don Prospero has 
 told us so. You will now get well in a very short 
 time. But I forget. We were to give you some- 
 thing, as soon as you should awake. It is only 
 our Mexican wine. Conchita, bring in the wine.' 
 
 Conchita had followed her mistress into the 
 chamber. A glance would have told her to be the 
 maid, if the overheard conversation had not akcady 
 declared it. A little brown-skinned damsel, less 
 than five feet in height, with raven hair hanging 
 in double plait down her back, and black eyes that 
 sparkled like those of a basilisk. 
 
 Provident Conchita had brought the bottle and 
 glass with her, and soon a portion of the famed 
 grape-juice of El Paso was swallowed by the in- 
 valid. 
 
 'How good you have been!' he said, as his 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 2 26 THE LONE RANCH E. 
 
 head once more settled down upon the pillow; 
 ' how very kind of you, senorita !' 
 
 ' Do not speak in that fashion,' she rejoined ; 
 * there has been no kindness in particular. You 
 would not have had us leave a fellow-creature to 
 perish on the plain ?' 
 
 * Ah, true ; I remember now. But for you, I 
 suppose I should now have been in another world.' 
 
 * No, indeed ; there you are mistaken. If I had 
 never come near you, you would have been saved 
 all the same. Know, senor, I have good news for 
 you. Your comrade is safe, and here. He ar- 
 rived next morning at an early hour, with the 
 whole of a deer upon his shoulders. He had 
 found water too ; so that you see I have no merit 
 for having rescued you. But I shall bring him 
 in, and Don Prospero, whom I hear talking out- 
 side. Don Prospero is a good surgeon, and has 
 well attended to your wounds. He has given in- 
 structions for you to be kept quiet ; so please do 
 not excite yourself by trying to talk. I shall 
 bring Don Prospero at once. Now that you are 
 awake, it may be necessary he should see you.'
 
 DON VALERIAN. 227 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, she glided out of 
 the room, Conchita having gone before. 
 
 Hamersley lay pondering on what he had just 
 heard — more especially on what he had overheard 
 — that sweet soliloquy. Few men are insensible to 
 flattery. And flattery from such lips ! He must 
 be near death indeed whose heart-pulsations it 
 would not have afiected. 
 
 The young Kentuckian was not going to die 
 there, or then. He knew he was not. He felt 
 enfeebled, but that was only through the loss of the 
 blood spilled copiously from his veins. For such 
 a woman's sake he could recover from a worse 
 wound than that he had received. He would be 
 sure to get well again. Thus thought he. 
 
 But Don Prospero ! who and what was he ? 
 Was he the owner of the voice he had heard in 
 dialogue with Walt Wilder? Might he be the 
 owner of all .^ This thought troubled him. 
 
 Approaching footsteps outside put a stop to 
 his conjectures. There were voices too — one of 
 them that late sounding so sweetly in his ears. 
 The other was a man's, though not the same he
 
 228 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 had heard making such terrible attempts to be un- 
 derstood by Walt ; nor was it that of the ex-ranger 
 himself. It was the voice of Don Prospero, who 
 soon after entered the room, the young lady lead- 
 ing the way. 
 
 A man of nigh sixty years of age, spare form 
 and face, hair grizzled, cheeks wrinkled; withal 
 hale and hearty, as could be told by the pleasant 
 sparkle of his eye. Dressed in a semi-military 
 suit, of a subdued tint, and facings that spoke of 
 the medical staff. 
 
 At a glance there was no danger in Don Pro- 
 spero. Hamersley felt relieved. 
 
 * Glad to see you looking so well,' said the old 
 gentleman, taking hold of his patient's hand to feel 
 his pulse. ' Ah ! much more regular ; it will be 
 all right now. Keep quiet, and we shall soon get 
 you on your feet again.' 
 
 ' Don Prospero,' asked the seuorita, who now, 
 no longer wearing her huntress garb, moved about 
 the room with all the grace of a silken-clad lady, 
 * I suppose he may see his friend, and also 
 Valerian ?'
 
 DON VALERIAN. 229 
 
 *0 certainly, nina. There is no longer any 
 danger. A little more of the grape-juice will do 
 him no harm. Nothing like our native wine, 
 seiior, for bringing a sick man back to his appe- 
 tite. After that, we shall give you some wild- 
 turkey broth, and a bone to pick. You 11 soon 
 be able to eat anything.' 
 
 ' Then I shall call them in,' said the senorita, 
 meaning Walt Wilder and Valerian ; as she spoke 
 disappearing from the room, and leaving Don Pro- 
 spero alone with his patient. 
 
 Soon after, her sweet voice was heard outside, 
 calling, ' Valerian !' 
 
 * Who is Valerian ?' feebly interrogated the 
 invalid. Again the name of a man was making 
 him unhappy. 
 
 'Don Valerian !' repeated the old surgeon, in 
 a tone that told of respect for the individual so 
 designated ; ' you shall see, seiior. You shall soon 
 make his acquaintance. No : I am wrong about 
 that. You cannot now' 
 
 * But why ? You have given permission for 
 him to see me.'
 
 230 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 'And so he shall, and jou him. There; you 
 see him now !' 
 
 This was said as a tall elegant man, under 
 thirty years of age, stepped inside the chamber ; 
 while a still taller form appeared in the doorway, 
 filling up the space between the two posts. 
 
 The latter was Walt Wilder — the former 
 Valerian. 
 
 * Colonel Miranda !' cried Hamersley, starting 
 up on his couch. ' Colonel Miranda, is it you ?' 
 
 ' It is, my dear friend, myself, as you see ; and 
 I need not tell you how glad I am to meet you 
 again. How unexpected in this queer quarter, 
 where I little hoped to have the pleasure of enter- 
 taining an old friend ! Our worthy medico here 
 tells me you will soon get strong again, and be 
 somewhat more of a tax on my hospitality than 
 you have yet been. No doubt, after your very 
 protracted fast, you will have the appetite of an 
 ostrich. Well, in one way that will be fortunate : 
 since here we are living, as you may see, in a 
 somewhat Homeric fashion. Carramho 1 you will 
 be deeming my manners quite as rude as the
 
 DON VALERIAN. 231 
 
 roughest of Homer's heroes. I am forgetting to 
 introduce you to one of whom you have often 
 heard me speak ; though it don't so much signify, 
 I suppose, since the lady has made your acquaint- 
 ance ab-eady. Senor Don Francisco, permit me to 
 present you to my sister Adela.' 
 
 It was the beautiful huntress who curtseyed to 
 this name ; and Hamersley now remembered the 
 portrait on the wall of the sala in Colonel Mir- 
 anda's house. He had already dismissed his sus- 
 picious fears of Don Prospero. 
 
 He now no longer dreaded Valerian.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE EEFUGEES. 
 
 ' Why are you here ?' 
 
 ' As regards Don Prospero and myself, we are 
 here to save our heads. As for my sister — But of 
 that I shall tell you in time ; you wish to have the 
 whole history ?' 
 
 *I do. It seems so inexplicahle — a mys- 
 tery, in fact, to find you here, in this oasis of 
 the desert, as you say it is ; and living in such 
 primitive fashion. I've been puzzling my brains 
 about it, ever since they became clear enough to 
 think.' 
 
 * Well, you shall have the puzzle solved. I've 
 hitherto kept it from you, by direction of our good 
 medico, who feared the tale might too much excite
 
 THE REFUGEES. 2-^^ 
 
 you. But you're uow strong enough, I take it, 
 and so listen.' 
 
 It was several days after the recovery of his 
 consciousness — the young Kentuckian still lying 
 on the couch, and Miranda seated hy his side — 
 that this dialogue was taking place. 
 
 'One word,' commenced the Mexican colonel, 
 ' one name, Tvill give you the key to the whole 
 affair ; a name, Don Francisco, already known to 
 you.' 
 
 ' Uraga /' exclaimed Hamersley, the word issu- 
 ing mechanically from his lips, while a cloud came 
 over his hrow, and a red flush flecked the pallor 
 upon his cheeks. * Uraga — that ruffian ! I was 
 thinking so.' 
 
 ' Gil Uraga — no longer Captain Gil Uraga, 
 but now co?o??eZ-commandante of the district that 
 six months ago was mine, and living in the house 
 where twelve months ago I had the honour of 
 showing you some little hospitality !' 
 
 The young Kentuckian turned uneasily on his 
 couch, his pale face becoming still farther flushed 
 with indiornation.
 
 234 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 *For the matter of our story,' continued the 
 Mexican, ' it only needs to add, that we are re- 
 fugees, and then it is all told. But the details 
 may be interesting to you, and also how and why 
 we have sought an asylum here. It is something 
 of a lengthy tale, Don Francisco ; and before going 
 farther, I think it would be well to strengthen you 
 with another coi^ita of wine. Before going out, 
 the doctor gave word for it to be given to you. 
 Besides, I need one myself, and that will be an 
 excuse for my having it. The host should always 
 drink with his guest.' 
 
 With a smile, the Mexican rose from his chair, 
 and stepped out of the room to give directions 
 about the wine. 
 
 Hamersley lay reflecting, longing to hear the 
 details of the interrupted narration. He had his 
 conjectures, that in some of them at least he would 
 feel a deep interest. He had not forgotten the con- 
 versation on the azotea — least of all that portion 
 of it in which allusion was made to Uraga, and his 
 aspiring to the hand of a certain lady. It had 
 pained him when he had only seen her portrait ;
 
 THE REFUGEES. 235 
 
 and now that he looked upon the original, novv- 
 that — 
 
 Though tortured by suspense, and something 
 of an undefinable fear, he remained silent, awaiting 
 the return of Miranda. 
 
 In due time Don Valerian reentered the room, 
 Conchita following with a flask of Paseno wine, 
 and drinking - vessels for two. The sparkling 
 beverage was soon quafi'ed, and the colonel re- 
 sumed his narration. 
 
 ' Not long after you left us, I made application 
 to the government for an increase to the mounted 
 force over which I had command. It had become 
 necessary, for the protection of the district from 
 our warlike neighbours in the west — the Nava- 
 joes. They had made several raids upon the river 
 settlements, and carried off goods, cattle, and a 
 number of captives. I got the force I had made 
 requisition for ; but not the right men, or at least 
 not the officers I should have chosen. A troop of 
 cavalry was sent to me. You may imagine my 
 chagrin, not to say disgust, when Captain Gil 
 Uraga at the head of his company of lancers
 
 236 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 marclied into the town of Albuquerque, and re- 
 ported himself for duty. I need not tell you how 
 unpleasant the association was, for many reasons ; 
 not the least that which I have already hinted to 
 you — his pretensions to the hand of my sister.* 
 
 Hamersley writhed upon the couch. Perhaps 
 had the doctor been present, he would have caused 
 the narration to be suspended. 
 
 Miranda went on : 
 
 * He continued his ill-received attentions when- 
 ever chance gave him an opportunity. It was not 
 often. I took care of that ; though but for pre- 
 cautions, and my authority as his superior officer, 
 his advances would no doubt have been bolder — 
 in short, persecutions. I knew that to my sister 
 as to myself his presence even in the district 
 was disagreeable ; but there was no help for it. I 
 could not have him removed. In all matters of 
 military duty, he took care to act, so that there 
 should be no pretext for a charge against him. 
 Besides, I soon found that he was in favour with 
 some of the government authorities, though I did 
 not then know why. I learnt it afterwards, and
 
 THE REFUGEES. 237 
 
 why he of all others should have been sent to Al- 
 buquerque. The srtj; had commenced for a new 
 revolution, and he was one of its secret fomefiters. 
 He had been chosen by the 'part'i prctre as a fitting 
 agent to act in the district — of which, like myself, 
 he was a native. 
 
 * Having no suspicion of this, I only thought 
 of him in regard to his impertinent pretensions to 
 my sister, and against these I could restrain him. 
 He was polite, obsequiously so, and cautiously 
 guarded in his gallantries; so that I had no cause 
 for resorting to the desafio — I could only wait 
 and watch. 
 
 * The vigil was not a long one ; though it 
 ended difi'erently from what I might have expected. 
 About two months after his coming under my 
 command, the late gr'ito was proclaimed all over 
 Mexico. One morning as I went down to the 
 military quarters, I found confusion and disturb- 
 ance. The soldiers were under arms, many of 
 them drunk, and vociferating, *' Viva Santa Anna! 
 Viva el coronel UragaT At a glance I compre- 
 hended all. It was a iwonunciamlento , I drew
 
 238 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 my sword, thinking I might stem the tide of 
 treason ; and called around me such of my followers 
 as were still faithful. It was too late. The poison 
 had spread throughout the whole command. My 
 adherents were soon overpowered — several of them 
 killed; myself wounded, dragged to the carcel, 
 and there locked up. The wonder is, that I was 
 not executed on the spot, for I know that Uraga 
 thirsted for my life. He was only restrained, how- 
 ever, by a little caution ; for although I was not 
 put to death on that day, he intended I should 
 never see the sun rise upon another. But he was 
 disappointed, and I escaped. 
 
 * I know you will be impatient to learn how,' 
 resumed the refugee, after rolling and igniting a 
 fresh cigarito. * It is somewhat of an incident, and 
 might serve the writer of a romance. I owe my 
 life, my liberty, and, what is more, my sister's 
 safety, to our good friend Don Prospero. In his 
 capacity of military surgeon he was not compro- 
 mised like the rest of us ; and after the revolt in 
 the cuartel he was left free to follow his vocation. 
 While seeking permission to dress the wound I
 
 THE REFUGEES. 239 
 
 had received, chance brought Jiini into a position 
 where he could overhear a conversation that was 
 being carried on between Uraga and one af his 
 lieutenants — a ruffian named Roblez, fit associate 
 for his superior. They were in high glee over 
 what had happened, carousing, and in their cups 
 not very cautious of what they said. Don Pro- 
 spero heard enough to make him acquainted with 
 their scheme — so diabolical you will scarce give 
 credence to it. I was to be made away with in 
 the night — carried up to the mountains, and there 
 murdered ! With no traces left, it would be sup- 
 posed that I had made my escape from the prison. 
 And the good doctor heard other designs equally 
 atrocious. What the demons afterwards intended 
 doing, when my sister should be left unprotected.' 
 
 Something like a groan came from the throat 
 of the invalid, while his fingers clutched nervously 
 at the serape that covered the couch. 
 
 * Devoted to me, Don Prospero at once resolved 
 upon a course of action. There was not a moment 
 to be lost. He obtained permission to attend 
 to me in the prison. It was a cheap grace on
 
 240 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Uraga's part, considering his ulterior design. An 
 attendant, a sort of hospital assistant, was al- 
 lowed to accompany the doctor to the cell, hearing 
 his lints, drugs, and instruments. Fortunately I 
 had not heen quite stripped by the ruffians who had 
 imprisoned me; and in my own purse, along with 
 that of Don Prospero, there was a considerable sum 
 of gold — enough to tempt the attendant to ex- 
 change clothes and places with me. He was the 
 more ready to do so, relying upon a story he 
 intended to tell, that we had ovei-powered and 
 compelled him. Poor fellow ! as we afterwards 
 learnt, it did not save him. He was shot the next 
 morning, to appease the chagrin of Uraga — raging 
 furious at our escape. "We cannot help feeling 
 regret for his fate; but, under the circumstances, 
 what else could have been done ? 
 
 * We stepped forth from the carcel, the doctor 
 leading the way, and I his assistant bearing the 
 paraphernalia after him. We passed out of the 
 quarters unchallenged. Fortunately the night was 
 a dark one, and the guards were given to carous- 
 ing. The sentries were nearly all intoxicated.
 
 THE REFUGEES. 241 
 
 '■ By stealth and in silence we hastened on to 
 my house ; where I found Adela, as you may sup- 
 pose, in a state of agonised distress. But there 
 was no time for words — not even of explanation. 
 With two of my peons whom I could trust, we 
 hastily collected some of our animals — horses 
 and pack-mules. The latter we loaded with such 
 things as we could think of, as heing requisite for 
 a journey. We intended it to he a long one — all 
 the way across the great prairies. I knew there 
 would he no safety for us within the limits of New 
 Mexico ; and I remembered what you had said to 
 me but a few months before — your kind proffer of 
 hospitality, should it ever be my fate to seek re- 
 fuge in your country. And to seek it we set forth ; 
 leaving my house untenanted, or only in charge 
 of a few faithful domestics, from whom gold had 
 gained a promise not to betray us. Don Prospero, 
 my sister, and myself, the two trusted peons who 
 had volunteered to accompany us, with the girl 
 Conchita, composed our travelling party. I knew 
 we dared not take the route usually travelled. We 
 should be followed by Uraga's troop, and taken 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 back or slain in the pursuit. Instead, I made 
 direct for the mountains, with whose passes I was 
 acquainted, having traversed them in pursuit of 
 the Apaches. 
 
 'We passed safely through the sierra, and kept 
 on towards the Rio Pecos. Beyond this river all 
 was unknown to us. We only knew that there 
 lay the Llano Estacado, invested with mysterious 
 terrors — the themes of our childhood's fears — a 
 vast sterile tract, uninhabited, or only by savages 
 seeking scalps, by wild beasts ravening for blood, 
 by hideous reptiles and serpents breathing poi- 
 son. But what were all these dangers to that we 
 were leaving behind ? Nothing ; and this thought 
 inspired us to keep on. 
 
 * We crossed the Pecos, and entered upon the 
 desert tract. We knew not how far it extended ; 
 only that on the other side lay a fertile country, 
 through which we might hope to reach the frontier 
 settlements of your great free nation. It was the 
 beacon of our hopes, the goal of our safety. 
 
 * We kept a due easterly course ; but there were 
 days when the sun was obscured by clouds; and
 
 THE REFUGEES. 243 
 
 then, unguided, we had either to remain at rest, 
 or travel by guess-work. 
 
 * We toiled on, growing weak for want of food, 
 and suffering terribly from thirst. No water was 
 to be found anywhere, not a drop. 
 
 * Our animals suffered as ourselves. Staggering 
 under the weight of their loads, one by one they 
 gave out, falling down upon the desert plain. Only 
 one held up bravely to the last — the mustang mare 
 that brought you to our lone ranche. Yes, Lolita 
 survived to carry my dear sister, as if she under- 
 stood the value we all placed upon her precious 
 burden. The others gave out — first the horses 
 ridden by Don Prospero and myself, then the 
 pack-mules. Fortunately they fell near the spot 
 where we at length found relief — near enough for 
 their loads to be afterwards recovered. 
 
 ' One day, as we toiled on afoot, in the hourly 
 expectation of death, we came in sight of this fair 
 valley. It appeared to us a Paradise, as you 
 say it did to yourself. Under our eyes were 
 green trees, and the sheen of flowing waters ; in 
 our ears the songs of birds, we had never expected
 
 244 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 to hear again. Chance had brought us dh-ect to 
 the path, the only one by which it can be reached 
 from the upper plain. Inspired by the promis- 
 ing landscape below, we had still strength enough 
 to descend. "\Te drank of the sweet water, and 
 soon found food on the branches of the trees that 
 shaded it. It was in a season when there were 
 fruits and berries in abundance. Afterwards w^e 
 discovered game, and were successful in capturing 
 it. With restored strength we were able to go 
 back, and recover the paraphernalia we had left 
 upon the plain, along with two of our mules, 
 that, after resting, had regained their feet, and 
 could struggle on a little farther. 
 
 ' At first we only thought of a temporary rest- 
 ing-place ; though there seemed but slight hope of 
 being able to continue our journey. But as the 
 days passed on and we were left undisturbed, we 
 began to realise the fact, that we had found a safe 
 asylum. 
 
 ^ It was not likely that any one could know the 
 route we had followed in our flight ; and even the 
 vengeance of Uraga, would scarce pursue us over
 
 THE REFUGEES. 245 
 
 the Staked Plain. In any case there was no help 
 for it but to remain in the valley — the only alter- 
 native seeming to be, a return to the Del Norte — a 
 thing not to be thought of. \ye resolved, there- 
 fore, on staying — at least for a time. We had 
 conceived a plan for communicating with the 
 outer settlements of New Mexico ; and were not 
 without hope, that sooner or later we might get 
 news that would make it safe for us to return. 
 In our country, as you know, there is nothing 
 permanent, and we might expect ere long to see 
 the liberal party — our own — once more in power. 
 ' Our resolution to remain here becoming fixed, 
 we set about making our situation as comfortable 
 as circumstances would permit. We built this 
 humble dwelling whose roof now shelters you. 
 We turned fishermen and hunters ; in this last 
 speciality my sister becoming more skilled than 
 any of us — a real huntress, as you, seuor, have had 
 occasion to perceive. We have enjoyed the life 
 amazingly; more especially our worthy medico, 
 who is an enthusiastic naturalist, and here finds 
 full scope for his studies. But we have not de-
 
 246 THE LONE RANCHE, 
 
 pended altogether upon the chase for our sub- 
 sistence. Manuel, one of our peons, makes an 
 occasional trip to the settlements — the route to 
 which he had such reason to remember. He takes 
 care to steer clear of Albuquerque, as also to make 
 his approaches under cover of the night, and his 
 marketing with circumspection. With our gold 
 not yet exhausted, he was enabled to purchase 
 mules, and bring back such commodities as we 
 stand in need of ; while a friend, who is intrusted 
 with the secret of our hiding-place, keeps us in- 
 formed of the novedades. Now, Don Francisco, 
 you know all.'
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 
 
 For some moments the Mexican colonel remained 
 silent, apparently buried in a profound reflection. 
 ' By the way, Don Francisco,' he said at length, 
 * you say you sent me a letter by the spring cara- 
 vans; which never reached me. What were its 
 contents ?' 
 
 * 0, that letter ! Merely to say that I was 
 coming back to New Mexico, and hoped to find 
 you in good health.' 
 
 ' Did it particularise the time you expected to 
 arrive at Albuquerque, or elsewhere ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; as far as I could fix it, I think it did.' 
 
 * The route by which you intended to travel ?' 
 
 ' That too. I said I intended to make trial
 
 248 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 of a new trail lately discovered; up the Cana- 
 dian, and skirting the northern end of the Staked 
 Plain. An unfortunate speculation, as it has 
 turned out.' 
 
 Perhaps, had Adela Miranda heen taking part 
 in the conversation, * Don Francisco' would not 
 have made the last remark. Nor on reflection, 
 and in secret thought, did he indorse it. She 
 was not present ; only her brother, his two guests 
 Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder, with the old 
 doctor Don Prospero. The two last had just 
 come in, and, at the invitation of the host, joined 
 him in a glass of the Paso wine. 
 
 * Why do you ask, Colonel Miranda ?' 
 
 The question was the continued speech of the 
 young Kentuckian, who, as well as the other two, 
 had noticed that their host was unusually medi- 
 tative. 
 
 * Because,' said Miranda, ' I've been thinking 
 a good deal about the attack on your caravan. 
 The more I reflect upon it, the more am I led to 
 suspect that there were 'painted Indians in the 
 party that plundered you.'
 
 THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 249 
 
 * They appeared to be all painted,' was the 
 simple rejoinder of the young prairie merchant. 
 
 ' That isn't what I mean, Don Francisco.' 
 
 * This chile knows what ye mean,' interposed 
 Wilder, starting up excitedly from his chair, as 
 the Mexican made the remark. ' That's been 
 my suspeeshun all along. You know what I tolt 
 ye, Frank?' 
 
 Hamersley looked interrogatively, as also did 
 Don PrOspero. 
 
 ' Did not I say that I seed two men 'mong the 
 Injuns wi' ha'r upon thar faces ? They wa'n't 
 Injuns; they war whites. Ain't that what ye 
 mean, Kurnel ?' 
 
 * Precisamentc,' was the colonel's reply. 
 
 All waited for him again to speak, giving the 
 explanation Wilder already half guessed at — the 
 doctor more than half. Even the Kentuckiau, 
 less experienced in Mexican ways and wickedness 
 — in infamy so incredible — began to have a glim- 
 mering of the truth. 
 
 Seemingly weighing his v»'ords, Miranda said : 
 
 * No doubt it was a band of Comanches who
 
 250 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 attacked and destroyed your caravan, and killed 
 your comrades. But I have as little doubt, that 
 there was a white man among them — one at least 
 — who planned and instigated the deed.* 
 
 ' Who, Colonel Miranda ?' was the quick in- 
 terrogatory of the Kentuckian ; who spoke first, 
 being the only one of the party who now needed 
 explanation. Nor did he much need it ; for the 
 name pronounced by Miranda was on the point of 
 his own tongue. 
 
 It was again ' Uraga.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the refugee colonel ; * Gil Uraga 
 is undoubtedly the robber who has despoiled you ; 
 though it was done in the guise of an Indian 
 attack, and with real Indians as his assistants. 
 I see it all now, clear as sunlight. He got your 
 letter, addressed to me as colonel commanding 
 the district of Albuquerque. As a matter of 
 course, he opened it. It told him when and 
 where to meet you, your strength, the value of 
 your cargo — everything. The last was not needed 
 as an incentive for Gil Uraga to attack you, Don 
 Francisco ; the scar you left upon his cheek was
 
 THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 251 
 
 sufficient. Didn't I tell you at the time, he would 
 move heaven and earth to be revenged upon both 
 of us ? He has striven well, and behold his suc- 
 cess ! I a hunted refugee, robbed of everything ; 
 you almost the same : both of us ruined men !' 
 
 * Not yet !' exclaimed the Kentuckian, spring- 
 ing to his feet, as if the juice of the Paseno grapes 
 had got into his head ; ' not ruined yet. Colonel 
 Miranda ! If it be as you say, I shall follow this 
 fiend, if needed, into the very heart of Mexico; 
 I shall follow and get my own out of him.' 
 
 * Thar's one'll go wi' ye !' cried Walt Wilder, 
 with unusual rapidity unfolding his gigantic form. 
 * Yis, Frank, to the heart 0' Mexiko, plum-centre; 
 to thet air place I've heern so much talked o' — the 
 halls 0' the Moctyzoomas. Hyar's a goodish-size 
 chile reddy for the start !' 
 
 'If,' said Hamersley, his coolness coming back 
 as he saw the more irrational enthusiasm of his 
 comrade, * if, Colonel Miranda, it should turn out 
 as you have conjectured, surely there is law in 
 your land — not much I suspect — but enough to 
 get redress for an outrage like that ?'
 
 252 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 '■ My dear Don Francisco,' replied the Mexican 
 ex-colonel, quietly rolling a fresh cigarito be- 
 tween his fingers, * there is law for those who 
 have the power and money to obtain it. In New 
 Mexico, as you must yourself know, ra'iglit makes 
 right; and never more than at the present hour. 
 Don Manuel Armigo is once more the governor 
 of my unfortunate fatherland. When I tell you 
 that he rose to his present position by just such 
 an act as that which has despoiled you, you may 
 then understand the sort of law administered in 
 New Mexico. Manuel Armigo was a shepherd, 
 employed on one occasion to drive a flock of thirty 
 thousand sheep — the property of his masters, the 
 Senor Leno and Chavez — to the northern markets 
 of Chihuahua. While crossing the Jornada del 
 Murete, he and one or two confederates, whom he 
 had instructed in his plan, disguised themselves 
 as Apache Indians, attacked their fellow sheep- 
 drivers, murdered them, and made themselves 
 masters of the whole flock. Then, pulling the 
 plumes from their heads, and washing the paint 
 ofi" their faces, they drove their charge to a dif-
 
 THE IXTERCEPTED LETTER. 253 
 
 ferent market, sold tliem, and returned to Leno 
 and Chavez, to tell a tale of Indian spoliation, 
 and how they themselves had escaped with their 
 scalps still safe ! This is the true history of 
 General Don Manuel Armigo, governor of New 
 Mexico — at least, that of his first beginnings. 
 With such, and many similar deeds done by him 
 since, is it likely he would look with any other 
 than a lenient eye on the doings of Gil Uraga, 
 his pet and protege ? Xo, Don Francisco ; not 
 even if you could prove the present colonel-com- 
 mandante of Albuquerque, in full open court, to 
 have been the man who robbed yourself, and 
 butchered your companions.' 
 
 * I shall tr}^, for all that,' said Hamersley, his 
 heart half in sorrow at the remembrance of his 
 slaughtered comrades, and half bursting with the 
 bitterness of a vengeance obstructed. ' Don't 
 suppose. Colonel Miranda, that I intend resting 
 my cause on the clemency of Don Manuel Ar- 
 migo, or any doubtful justice to be expected at 
 his hands. There's a wide stretch of prairie be- 
 tween the United States and Xew Mexico, but not
 
 254 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 SO wide as to hinder our American eagle from flap- 
 ping its wings across it, and giving protection to 
 all of us who stray this way; even to a poor 
 prairie trader. A thousand thanks, my dear Don 
 Valerian — I owe you far more — for twice saving my 
 life, and now for setting me on the true track of 
 the scoundrel who has twice endangered it. Part- 
 ing from your hospitality, I shall go in search of 
 him — direct to the valley of the Del Norte. If I 
 find our man there, and discover that we are not 
 wronging him hy our conjectures, don't fear that 
 I shall fail in obtaining justice, whatever Don 
 Manuel Armigo may do to defeat it.' 
 
 * More'n justice !' added the hunter - guide, 
 again springing from his seat with a violent ges- 
 ticulation. ' Only think o' fourteen innercent 
 men — airy one o' 'em brave as lions — attacked 
 'ithout word o' warnin', shot down, slaughtered, 
 an' sculped, 'mong the tongues an' wheels o' 
 wagons ! Think o' that, an' then don't talk about 
 justice — talk only o' reevenge !'
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 RETURNING FROM A RAID. 
 
 An Indian encampment. It is upon a creek called 
 * Pecan,' a confluent of the Little Witchita river, 
 heading about a hundred miles from the eastern 
 edge of the Llano Estacado. 
 
 There are no tents in the encampment — not 
 even a tent -pole ; only here and there a buffalo- 
 robe, extended horizontally upon upright sticks — 
 branches that have been cut from the pecans. 
 Here and there the umbrageous canopy of the 
 trees protect the encamped warriors from the 
 fervid rays of a noonday sun, striking vertically 
 down. 
 
 That they are warriors is evidenced by the 
 absence of tents. A peaceful party, in its ordinary
 
 256 THE LONE RANG HE. 
 
 nomadic passage across the prairies, would have 
 its lodges along with it — grand conical structures 
 of dressed buffalo-skins — with the squaws that set 
 them up, and the dogs or ponies that transported 
 them to the spot. 
 
 In this encampment on the Pecan are neither 
 squaws, dogs, nor ponies; only men, naked to 
 the breech-clout, their bodies brightly painted from 
 hip to head, chequered like hatchments, or the 
 tight-fitting jacket of a stage harlequin ; some 
 showing devices fantastic, even ludicrous ; others 
 of aspect terrible — such as the death's-head and 
 cross-bones. 
 
 An old prairie man, on seeing them, would, 
 have at once said : * Injuns on the icar -trail.'' 
 
 It did not need this sort of experience to tell 
 they were returning from it. If there were no 
 ponies or dogs around the encampment, there 
 were other animals in abundance — horses, mules, 
 and horned cattle ; horses and mules of American 
 breed, and cattle whose ancestral stock had come 
 from Tennessee or Kentucky, along with the early 
 colonists of Texas.
 
 RETURNING FROM A RAID. 257 
 
 If there were no squaws or papooses, there 
 were women and children — ^both white. A group 
 of them could be seen near the centre of the en- 
 campment. It did not need their dishevelled hair 
 and torn dresses to show they were captives ; nor 
 yet the half-dozen savages, spear-armed, keeping 
 guard over them. Their drooping heads and de- 
 spairing faces were evidence sufficient of the mel- 
 ancholy situation. 
 
 What were these captives, and who were their 
 captors ? Two questions easily answered. In a 
 general way, the picture explained itself. The 
 first were the wives and children, with sisters and 
 grown-up daughters among them, of Texan colo- 
 nists, from a settlement near the frontier — too 
 near to protect itself from an Indian maraud. It 
 was one pressed far forv»'ard into the fertile tract 
 of land lying among the Cross Timbers. The 
 marauders were a party of Comanches, with whom 
 the reader has made some acquaintance ; for they 
 were no other than the band of the Horned Liz- 
 ard. The time is several weeks subsequent to 
 the tragical scene of the caravan capture, already 
 
 TOL. I. s
 
 258 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 described ; and, judging from the spectacle now 
 before us, we may conclude that the Tenawa 
 chief has not spent the interval in idleness. At 
 least two hundred miles lie between the northern 
 point of the Staked Plain, where the caravan was 
 destroyed, and the Cross Timbers. Yet twenty 
 more to the place of the despoiled settlement, 
 whose spoil, in horses, horned cattle, and cap- 
 tives, now make such an imposing appearance in 
 the Indian camp. 
 
 Such quick work requires some explanation : 
 it is a double cou^, at variance with the customs 
 and inclinations of the prairie freebooter, who, 
 having acquired a booty, rarely attempts another 
 effort till its proceeds have been squandered. He 
 is like the anaconda, that, having gorged itself, 
 lies torpid, till the craving of a new hunger once 
 more arouses it to activity. 
 
 Thus would it have been with the Horned 
 Lizard and his band, but for a circumstance of a 
 somewhat unusual kind. The attack on the 
 prairie traders was not designed by himself, 
 but was a scheme of his secret ally, the military
 
 RETURNING FROM A RAID. 259 
 
 commandant of Albuquerque. The summons 
 had come to him unexpected, and after he had 
 planned his descent on the Texan settlement. But, 
 sanguinary as that act was, it had been brief, 
 leaving him time to carry out his original design, 
 which had also proved as tragical in its execution. 
 Here and there, a spear standing up, with a tuft 
 of light - coloured hair, blood - clotted, upon its 
 blade, was evidence of this. Quite as successful 
 too. The large drove of horses, mules, and cattle 
 — to say nothing of that group of wan woe-struck 
 captives — proved the spoil of the maraud worth 
 as much, or perhaps more, than that taken from 
 the trader's wagons. 
 
 The Horned Lizard was jubilant, as well as 
 every warrior of his band. In loss their late- 
 made spoil had cost them little — only one or two 
 of their number, killed by the settlers while defend- 
 ing themselves. It made up for the severe sacri- 
 fice sustained in their attack upon the caravan. 
 If the number of their tribe was reduced, there 
 were now the fewer to share with ; and what with 
 the cotton goods of Lowell, the gaudy prints of
 
 26o THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 Manchester; tlie stripes, stroudings, and scarlet 
 cloths to hedeck and array them ; the hand-mir- 
 rors in Tvhich to admire themselyes ; the horses 
 to ride upon ; the mules to carry their tents ; the 
 cattle to eat ; the white women to he their concu- 
 hines, and the children their attendants — all these 
 were fine prospects for savages, sufficient to make 
 them juhilant — almost delirious with joy. 
 
 A new era had dawned upon the tribe of which 
 the Horned Lizard was chief. Hitherto it had 
 been a somewhat starring community, its range 
 lying amid sterile tracts, on the upper tributaries 
 of the Eed Payer and Canadian. Now, before it 
 was a time of feasting and luxury, such as rarely 
 occurs to a robber -band, whether amidst the forest- 
 clad mountains of Italy, or on the treeless steppes 
 of America. 
 
 The Comanche chief was joyous and triumph- 
 ant. So also was his second in command; whose 
 skin, with the paint cleansed from it, would have 
 shown nearly white. He was, in truth, a Mexi- 
 can, in early life taken captive by the Comanches, 
 and long since matriculated into the mysteries of
 
 RETURNING FROM A RAID. 261 
 
 the tribe ; now one of its warriors, cunning and 
 cruel as the Horned Lizard himself. It was he 
 who had first put the Tenawa chief en rapx>ort 
 with the ruffian Uraga. 
 
 As the two stood together contemplating the 
 captives, scanning the features of the younger 
 women, the sensuous expression on their faces was 
 hideous to behold. It would have been a painful 
 sight for father, brother, or husband. And there 
 were fathers, brothers, and husbands near — al- 
 most within sight. An eye elevated six hundred 
 feet above the plain — that of a soaring eagle — 
 would have seen them. 
 
 There 2cere birds above — not eagles, but vul- 
 tures ; for the foul buzzards frequently follow the 
 redskin on his maraud. Their instinct tells them 
 that his path will be stained with blood, and 
 strewed with corpses. There was a flock of these 
 birds hovering in the heavens above. Also an- 
 other flock not far off; though too far to attract 
 the observation of the Indians. Now and then 
 between the two a straggler might have been seen 
 passing, as if a courier carrying despatches.
 
 262 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 The vultures of the second flock were also 
 hoTering ahove an encampment. But very differ- 
 ent was the appearance of the personages com- 
 posing it. They were all men — not a woman 
 or child among them — bearded men, with white 
 skins, and wearing the garb of civilisation. Not 
 of the most select kind or cut, nor all in the exact 
 dress of civilised life ; for among them were many 
 whose buckskin hunting-shirts, fringed leggings, 
 and moccasined feet showed equally the costume 
 of the savage. Besides these there were men in 
 blanket-coats of red, and green, and blue, all sweat- 
 stained and dust-tarnished, till the colours nearly 
 corresponded. Others in frocks of blue-gray Ken- 
 tucky jeans, or the good old copper - coloured 
 homespun. Still others in the sky-blue cotton- 
 ade, product of the hand - mills of Attakapas. 
 Boots and brogans of all kinds of leather, stained 
 and unstained; even that tanned from the skin 
 of the alligator. Hats of every shape, fashion, 
 size, and material — straw, chip, Panama, wool, 
 felt, and even the silk bell-topper, bad imitation 
 of beaver — all looking worse for wear.
 
 RETURNING FROM A RAID. 26 
 
 In one thing these personages were nearly 
 alike — their arms and equipment. All were belted, 
 XDOuehed, and powder-horned ; a bowie-knife, mth 
 a revolving-pistol in the belt — some with two — 
 and each carrying a rifle in his hand. Besides 
 this uniformity, there were still other resem- 
 blances, at least among a portion of them. It 
 was noticeable in their rifles, which were jagers of 
 the army-branded pattern ; still more apparent in 
 the caparison of their horses ; these carrying cav- 
 aby-saddles, the peaks and cantles mounted with 
 brass. Among these there was a sort of uncouth 
 half-military discipline, indicated by some slight 
 deference shown to two or three of their number, 
 who appeared to be officers. They were, in fact, a 
 troop, or, as among themselves styled, a company 
 of * Texan Rangers.' 
 
 Not all in the encampment were of this organ- 
 isation — only about half. The other half were 
 the fathers, brothers, and husbands, whom the 
 Horned Lizard and his band had despoiled of 
 their daughters, sisters, and wives. Like^ or un- 
 like to one another, they were still more unlike
 
 264 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 to the crowd composing the encampment of the 
 savages. The buzzards above seemed conscious 
 of the distinction, and perhaps also understood its 
 significance. Those same birds might have seen 
 a similar sight before — almost certainly had they 
 — and could foretell what was likely to follow 
 from such a close proximity of adverse colours 
 and antagonistic forms. There may have been 
 an electricity in the aii', that told the birds of 
 what was to come — in the same way as they are 
 forewarned of a storm.
 
 Wi 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII, 
 
 A COUP. 
 
 I HATE spoken of the pai-ty of Texans as form- 
 ing an encampment. This is not correct; they 
 were only en hivouac. Not even a stoppage so 
 ceremonial as this ; they were but halted to 
 breathe and water their horses, snatching mean- 
 while a scrap from their haversacks — this last not 
 leisurely. There were men among them that 
 could not brook delay — men with hearts to whom 
 every hour seemed a day, every lost minute tor- 
 ture. These were they, whose homes had been 
 rendered desolate. 
 
 Their associates, the Eangers, were almost 
 equally impatient of detention. They had now 
 struck the trail of their life-long enemies; and 
 not only the younger, but the elders of them —
 
 266 THE LONE RANCHE, 
 
 like old hounds upon a deer-track — were to be 
 held back by no leash, until they had buried their 
 bowies in blood. 
 
 They knew whom they were in pursuit of — 
 the Horned Lizard and his band. Many of the 
 Sanger s had an old score to settle with the Te- 
 nawa chief — a balance of bloody retaliation. They 
 were in hopes that the time was at hand. 
 
 * They can't be fur off now, cap'n,' said a thin 
 little man, all over buckskin, without tag or orna- 
 ment, and who looked as if he had been at least 
 half a century upon the plains. * I kin tell by 
 the sign, thet they passed this hyur peint jest 
 a hour arter sun-up.' 
 
 * You are sure of that, Cully ?' asked the in- 
 dividual spoken to, who was the captain of the 
 Eangers. 
 
 * Sure as ef I'd been hyur an' seed 'em. This 
 hottish spell o' sun air boun' to bring 'em to a 
 halt — specially as they're cummered wi' the stock 
 an' keptyv^es. I reck'n I kin tell the 'dzact spot 
 whar they'll make stop.' 
 
 * Where ?'
 
 A COUP. 267 
 
 * Pee-cawn Crik. Thur they'll git sweet water 
 an' shade. Sartint they'll stop thur, an' maybe 
 stay a spell. The skunks won't hev neery idee 
 thet we're arter 'em, so fur from the settle- 
 ments.' 
 
 ' If they're upon the Pecan,' interrupted a third 
 speaker, a tall lathy individual, in a green blanket 
 coat badly faded, * and anywhere near its mouth, 
 we can't be more than five miles from them. I 
 know this part of the country well ; I passed 
 through it along with the Santa Fe expedition.' 
 
 * Only five miles !' exclaimed another man, 
 whose dress bespoke a planter of respectability, 
 while his sad countenance proclaimed him to be 
 one of the bereaved. * gentlemen ! our horses 
 are now rested ; why not ride forward, and attack 
 them at once ?' 
 
 'We'd be durned foolich to do so,' replied the 
 septagenarian in buckskin. ' Thet, Mr. Wilton, 
 'ud be jess the way to defeet all our plans an' 
 purpisses. They'd see us long afore we ked git 
 sight o' them ; time enuf to toat ojBf the bosses 
 an' cattle — leaswise the weemen.'
 
 268 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 ' What's your way. Cully ?' asked one of the 
 Hangers. 
 
 * Wait till the sun go down, then 'proach 
 'em. Thar boun' to hev fires, an' thet'U guide 
 us right on to thar camp. Ef it's in Pee-cawn 
 bottom — as I'm sartint it air — we Idn surround 
 'em eezy. Thar's bluffs a-both sides, an' we kin 
 divide inter two lots ; one stealin' roun' an' comin' 
 from up the crik, whiles the tother 'tacks 'em 
 from below. That way we'll make sure o' keepin' 
 'em from runnin' off the weemen ; beside, it air 
 the more likelier chance to count sculps.' 
 
 ' What do you say, boys ?' interrogated the 
 Eanger captain, addressing himself more especi- 
 ally to the men composing his command. 
 
 * Cully's right,' was the response spoken by a 
 majority of voices. 
 
 * Then we must stay here till night. If we 
 go forward now, they may see us before we get 
 within shooting distance. Do you think, Cully, 
 you can take up the trail at night, supposing it 
 be a dark one ?' 
 
 * Pish !' retorted the guide, for Cully was act-
 
 A COUP. 269 
 
 ing in this capacity. * Take up thet trail ! Yes, 
 in the blackest night as iver shet down over a 
 puraira. Durn me ! I ked smell it !' 
 
 There was no farther discussion. Cully's 
 opinion was all - powerful, and determined the 
 course of action. The halt, at first only intended 
 to be temporary, was continued till the going 
 down of the sun, despite expostulations, almost 
 prayerful appeals, on the part of some of the men 
 — the settlers who had left their desolate homes 
 behind them, and who were burning with impa- 
 tience once more to embrace the dear ones whose 
 absence rendered them desolate. 
 
 7-:- ^-r *• « 7^ * 
 
 Before another sun went down — even before it 
 had fairly risen — they were one and all blessing 
 the man who had given counsel in contradiction 
 to their own. It was as the guide had predicted. 
 The Indian despoilers had made halt on Pecan 
 Creek ; and, no longer fearing pursuit, tarried all 
 night in their encampment. They had kindled 
 large fires ; and roasting upon these the fattest 
 of the captured kine, spent the fore part of the
 
 270 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 night in a grand Homeric feast. Engrossed with 
 their joys, they had neglected guard ; and in the 
 midst of their savage festivities, they were sud- 
 denly set upon from all sides, the sharp cracking 
 of the rifle, and the quick detonation of the re- 
 volver, silencing their wild cachinnation, and scat- 
 tering them like chaff. After the first fusillade 
 there was hut little left of them. Those who were 
 not instantly shot down escaped in the darkness, 
 skulking off among the pecan trees. It was al- 
 together an affair of firearms; and for once the 
 howie — the Texan's trusted weapon — had no part 
 in the fray. 
 
 The first rays of the sun shed their light upon 
 a strange scene — a tableau sanguinary, and yet 
 not altogether sad. On the contrary, it disclosed 
 a sight that, but for the red surroundings, might 
 have seemed all of gladness. Fathers, half frantic 
 with joy, embracing children they had never ex- 
 pected to see again ; brothers clasping the hands 
 of sisters, supposed lost for ever ; husbands, late 
 broken-hearted, once more made happy by the 
 restoration of their wives J
 
 A COUP. 271 
 
 This was the pleasant side of the picture. 
 Close hy, was presented that of less cheerful 
 aspect ; coi-pses strewed over the ground, still 
 bleeding, scarce yet stark or stiff. All of coppery 
 complexion — all Indians. Among them was re- 
 cognised by Cully — and others of the Kangers 
 his ancient enemies — the body of the Horned 
 Lizard. Only one captive was taken alive ; and 
 he, because having a white skin, had done what 
 was disdained by his red -skinned associates — 
 begged for his life. 
 
 A tableau at once terrible and pleasing — a 
 contrast of passions and emotions, such as can 
 only be encountered on the far frontier of Texas.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION. 
 
 The Texan party had made what prairie men call 
 a cou}^. On counting the corpses of their slain 
 enemies, they found that at least one half of the 
 Tenawa hand had fallen, including its chief. They 
 could make an approximate estimate of the num- 
 ber that had been opposed to them by the sign 
 yisible around the camp, as also by the trail 
 they had been for several days following. Those 
 who escaped had got off, some on their horses, 
 hastily caught and mounted ; others afoot, by tak- 
 ing to the timber. They were not pursued, as it 
 was still dark night when the action ended ; and 
 by daylight these wild centaurs, well acquainted 
 with the country, would be scattered beyond aU 
 •chance of being overtaken.
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION. 273 
 
 The settlers were satisfied at having recovered 
 their relatives, as well as their stolen stock; and 
 for the Kangers, enough had been accomplished 
 to slake their vengeful thirst — for the time. These 
 last, however, had not come off unscathed ; for 
 
 the Comanches, well armed with guns, bows, and 
 
 y 
 lances, had not died unresistingly. In Texas, In- 
 dians rarely do ; and never when they know that it 
 is a fight with Kangers. Between them and these 
 frontier guerrilleros, in one sense as much sav- 
 ages as themselves, it is an understood thing : 
 war to the bitter end, and no quarter either asked 
 or granted. The Texan loss was three of their 
 number killed, and about twice as many wounded 
 — enough, considering the advantage they had had 
 in their unwarned attack upon an enemy that had 
 proved for once un watchful. 
 
 When the conflict was ended, and daylight had 
 made manifest the result, the victors took posses- 
 sion of the spoils — most being their own property. 
 The cattle and horses, that had strayed or stam- 
 peded during the fight, were again collected into a 
 drove — those of the Indians being united to it. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 2 74 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 This done, only a short stay was intended — -just 
 long enough to bury the bodies of the three 
 Kangers who had been killed, get stretchers pre- 
 pared for such of the wounded as were unable to 
 sit in the saddle, and make other preparations for 
 taking the back-track towards the settlements. 
 
 They were not hastening their return through 
 any apprehension of a counter-attack on the part 
 of the Comanches. Fifty Texas Kangers — and 
 there were this number in the party — have no fear 
 on any part of the plains, so long as they are 
 mounted on good horses, carrying rifles in their 
 hands, bowie knives and pistols in their belts, a 
 sufficient supply of powder in their flasks, and 
 bullets in their pouches. With all these things 
 they were amply provided; and had there been 
 any necessity for continuing the pursuit, or the 
 prospect of striking another cou^, they would 
 have gone on — even though the chase should con- 
 duct them into the defiles of the Rocky Moun- 
 tains. To pursue and slay the savage was their 
 vocation, their duty, their desire. 
 
 But the settlers were desirous of returning to
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION. 275 
 
 their homes, that they might relieve the anxiety 
 of other dear ones, who there awaited them. Glad 
 tidings they could carry. 
 
 TVTiile the preparations for departure were going 
 on, Cully, who, with several others, was collecting 
 the weapons and accoutrements found upon their 
 slain enemies, gave utterance to a cry, that brought 
 a crowd of his comrades around him. 
 
 ' What is it, Nat ?' inquired the Ranger cap- 
 tain. 
 
 * Look hyur, cap ! D'ye see this gun T 
 
 * Yes ; a hunter's rifle. Whose is it ?' 
 
 * That's jess the questyin ; though thar ain't 
 no questyin about it. Boys, do any 0' ye recconise 
 this hyur shootin' iron ?' 
 
 One after another the Rangers stepped up, and 
 looked at the rifle. 
 
 * I do,' said one. 
 
 * And I,' added another. 
 
 And a third, and fourth, all made the affir- 
 mation in a tone of surprise. 
 
 * Walt Wilder's gun,' continued Cully, * sure 
 an' sartin. I know it, an' oughter know it. See
 
 276 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 them two letters in the stock thar — "W. W." 
 Ole Nat Cully hez good reezun to recconise them, 
 since 'twas hisself that cut 'em. I did it for Walt 
 two yeern ago, when we war scoutin' on the Col- 
 lyrado. It's his weepun, an' no mistake.' 
 
 * Where did you find it ?' inquired the captain. 
 
 * I've jess tuk it out o' the claws o' the ugliest 
 Injun as iver made trail on apuraria — that beauty 
 thar, whose karkidge the buzzarts won't be likely 
 to tech.' 
 
 As he spoke, CuUy pointed to a corpse. It 
 was that of the Tenawa chief, already recognised 
 among the slain. 
 
 * He must a' hed it in his clutch when sud- 
 dintly shot dow^n,' Cully went on. * An' whar did 
 he git it ? Boys, our ole kummarade's wiped-out 
 for sartin. I know how Walt loved thet thur 
 weepun. He w'udn't a parted wi' it unless along 
 wi' his life.' 
 
 This was the conviction of several others who 
 knew Walt Wilder. It w^as the company of Kangers 
 to which he had formerly belonged. 
 
 * Thar's been foul play somewhar,' pursued
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION. i']'] 
 
 Cully. ' Walt went back to the States — to Kain- 
 tuck, ef this chile ain't mistook. But 'tain't likely 
 he stayed thur; he kedn't keep long off o' the 
 purarias. I tell ye, boys, these hyur Injuns hev 
 been makin' mischief somewhar. Look thur — 
 look at thai- leggin's ! Thar's no eend o' white 
 sculps, an' fresh tuk too !' 
 
 The eyes of all were turned towards these ter- 
 rible trophies, that in gory garniture fringed the 
 buckskin leg-wear of the savages. Cully, with 
 several others who had known Wilder well, pro- 
 ceeded to examine them, in full expectation that 
 they would find among them the skin of their old 
 comrade's head. There were seven scalps, all of 
 white men, among many that were Indian, and 
 not a few that exhibited the equally black, but 
 shorter, crop of the Mexican. Those that were 
 indubitably of white men showed the evidence of 
 having been recently taken; but none could be 
 identified as that of Walt Wilder. There was 
 some relief in this : for his old comrades loved 
 Walt. Still, there was his gun, which Cully de- 
 clared could only be taken from him along with
 
 278 THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 his life. How had it come into the hands of the 
 Horned Lizard ? 
 
 * I reckon we can settle that/ said the captain 
 of the Kangers. * The renegade ought to know 
 something ahout it.* 
 
 This speech referred to the Mexican who had 
 been taken prisoner, and ahout whose disposal 
 they had already commenced to deliberate. Some 
 were for shooting him on the spot ; others pro- 
 posed hanging; while only a few of the more 
 humane advocated taking him on to the settle- 
 ments, and there giving him a trial. He would 
 have to die anyhow — that was pretty sure; for 
 not only as a Mexican was he their enemy, but 
 now doubly so, from being found in league with 
 their most hated foemen — the Comanches. 
 
 The wretch was lying on the ground close by, 
 shaking with fear, in spite of the fastenings in 
 which he was tightly held. He knew he was in 
 danger, and had only so far escaped, by having 
 surrendered to a settler instead of one of the 
 Kangers. 
 
 * Let's gie him a chance 0' his life — ef he'll
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION, 279 
 
 tell all about it/ counselled CuUj'. *Wliat d'ye 
 say, cap ?' 
 
 * I agree to that,' answered the Ranger captain. 
 * He don't appear to be worth shooting ; though it 
 may be as well to take him back to the settlement, 
 and shut him up in prison. The promise of his 
 life may get out of him all he knows ; if not, the 
 other will. He's not an Indian, and a bit of rope 
 looped round his neck will no doubt loosen his 
 tongue. Suppose ye try it, boys ?' 
 
 The ' boys' were unanimous in their assent, 
 and the renegade was at once brought up for ex- 
 amination. The man in the green-blanket coat, 
 who, as a Santa Fe expeditioner, had spent over 
 twelve months in Mexican prisons, was appointed 
 his examiner. He had been long enough among 
 the ' yeller-bellies' to learn their language. 
 
 The renegade was for a time reticent, and his 
 statements contradictory. No wonder he hesitated 
 to tell what he knew, so compromising to himself. 
 But when the lariat was at length noosed around 
 his neck — the loose end of it thrown over the 
 limb of a pecan tree — the other conditions being
 
 28o THE LONE RANCHE. 
 
 at the same time made known to liim — he saw 
 that things could be no worse ; and, seeing this, 
 he made confession — full, if not free. Everything 
 was disclosed that had occurred — the attack and 
 capture of the caravan ; the slaughter of the white 
 men that accompanied it ; and the retreat of two 
 of them to the cliff, one of whom, by the descrip- 
 tion, could be no other than Walt Wilder. When 
 the renegade came to describe the horrible mode 
 in which their old comrade had perished, the 
 Rangers were almost frenzied with rage ; and it 
 was with difficulty some of them could be withheld 
 from forswearing their promise, and tearing the 
 WTetch to pieces. 
 
 He declared, however, that he had* taken no 
 part in the transaction ; that none of his acts 
 were voluntary ; that, although they had found 
 him among the Indians, he was there only as 
 their prisoner ; and that they had forced him along 
 with them. 
 
 This was evidently untrue ; but, false or true, 
 it had the effect of pacifying his judges, so that 
 the lariat was left loose around his neck.
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION. 281 
 
 Farther examination and cross-examination 
 elicited everything, except the alliance between 
 the Mexican militar'ios and the despoilers of the 
 caravan. Not thinking of this — indeed having 
 no suspicion of it — his examiners did not put any 
 questions about it ; and the wretch, therefore, saw 
 no reason to declare it. He might have indulged 
 the hope of one day returning to the Del Norte, 
 and holding further communication with Colonel 
 Uraga. 
 
 ' Boys !' said the ranger-captain to his men, 
 as soon as the examination was over, ' you all 
 of you loved Walt Wilder — all of you who knew 
 him ?' 
 
 * We did ! we did !' was the response feelingly 
 spoken. 
 
 * So did I. Well; he's dead beyond a doubt. 
 It's more than a month ago, and he could not last 
 that long, shut up in a cave. His bones will be 
 there, no doubt, with those of the poor fellow, 
 whoever he was, that went in with him. It's 
 dreadful to think of it. Now, from what the 
 Mexican says, it can't be so very far from here ;
 
 282 777^ LONE RANCHE. 
 
 and as we can make him guide us to the place, 
 I propose we go there, get out the hones of our 
 old comrade, and give them hurial.' 
 
 With the Texan Kangers, ohedience to duty is 
 less a thing of command than request : and this 
 was a request that received an instant and un- 
 animous assent. 
 
 ' Let us go !' was the cry that came from all 
 sides. 
 
 * We needn't all make this journey,' continued 
 the captain. * There's no need for any more than 
 our boys, the Kangers, and such of the settlers 
 as may choose to go vrith us. The rest, who have 
 got to take care of the women, and some for driv- 
 ing hack the stock, can make their way to the 
 Cross Timbers at once. I reckon we've left the 
 track pretty clear of Indians, and they will be in no 
 danger.' 
 
 Without farther discussion this arrangement 
 was decided upon ; and the two parties commenced 
 making the preparations suitable to their respec- 
 tive plans. 
 
 In less than two hours after, they had separ-
 
 THE FORCED CONFESSION. 
 
 ated ; the settlers, witli the women, children, and 
 cattle, wending their way eastward ; while the 
 Eangers, guided by the renegade, rode off in the 
 opposite direction — toward the Llano Estacado. 
 
 END OP VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 ROBSON AND SONS, PBIKTEBSj PANCRAS ROAD, N.Ti".

 
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