_ .. . _-.__... 7.- [3&1 ‘hy I’r111.1\~i| n H" Um). W. (HHLR'I'UN & (Rx, UWHCIN Hf 11w .\lll(‘l'ii':111 ('uggl'ield. //' J g Z, —/ ~ 2 . 6 / 5 //// 2 ¢ 2 ' 5/? E i y 1 ,4 1 u :2 I 5,, I r L L COPYRIGHT. 1882, BY Bun”: (St—501mg: . . . . . . . . . . . ‘ . . . . . . ‘ ‘ , . , 2.7.4.42“. . . . . . . . . . . : rm. Lil"; V . . . . . . . .7; . _ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. MAY, 1903, .‘ in. J. h’lms £1i§1§§hli§li2§~ ‘ P bh hed Ev “ H , ’ _ ’ 10 Cent C . l "0. 1072. “ fiomh. °” 3:153:35 13:33:; 7:338:13; f $1.00 2.2623." Vfll. lXXXW. i _r_;r W ' 7v , A__A W ,, , , 7;:._._. _.T V 1 i 7771 M: :7 —' 7 e THE W HITE CHIEF. ;. A; ROMANCE OF NORTHERN MEXICO. ‘ c BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, Amen or “ 'rm: BEADLESS now-mum,” “ THE DEATH-SHOT," “THE scum nuxmns,” 310., It" 1,! W4 7- ‘ H't '9 y W ‘” r 7412'}? /' ., ,x l UAXOBNTALLWABOVIL mmwwuwmmunaommnm. 2 The White Chief. Iopulu' Edition of Csptsin Mayne Reid’s Works The White Chief. C A ROMANCE 0F NORTHERN MEXICO. B‘ CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, AUTHOR on “THE man RANGERS,” ECALP 11UNT£.RS, ’ E’l‘C., mo. “an CHAPTER I. ['1' is ‘he day of San Juan. A broad grassy plain li a inst outside tl-e town of San Ildei‘onso, 3nd upon this the vi Z'I:'.-; are assembled. It is the scene of the fi'S‘Zlle, and the sports will soon be in. 8 love arrived in front of several rows cf seats X‘S‘jscd above one flilOtlll r. Let us obs-rve who occupy them. At a glance it is apparent; they are in po~snr isitof uniform appearance in every part. Its northern division consists of an arid steppe, sometimes trecless, for an extent of fifty miles, and some- times having a stunted covering of nunquite (acacia). of which there are two distiict spe- cies. This steppe is in several places rent by chasms a thouaund feet in depth, and walled in on Loth sides by rugged impassable precipices. Vast masses of shapeless rocks lie along the beds of these great clcfts, and pools of water appear at long intervals, while stunted cedars ‘8 AI grow among the rocks, or cling from the seams of the cliffs. Such (-lmsms, called “ canyons.” can only be crossed, or even entered, at certain oints, and these passes are frequently a score 0 miles dis- tant from each other. On tl.e upper plain the surface is often a dead level for a hundred miles, and as firm as a macadamized road. There are spots covered with a turf of grass of the varieties known as grmnma, buffalo, and mesquite; and sometimes the traveler encounters a region where shallow ponds of different sizes stud the plain—a few being Irmanent, and surrounded by sedge. Most 0 these ponds are more or less brackish, some sulphutous, and others perfectly salt. After heavy rains such aqueous deposits are. more numerous, and their waters sweeter; but rain seems to fall by accident over this deso- late region, and after long spells of drought the greater number of these pools disappear altogether. Toward the southern end of the Llano Estacado the surface exhibits a \ery singular pl-cnomenon- a belt of sand—hills, nearly twenty miles in breadth and full fifty in length, stretch-a ing north and south upon the plain. These bills are of pure white sand, thrown up in ridges, and sometimesin cones, to the hight of a bun—_ drcd fret, and without tree, bush, or shrub, to freak their soft outlines, or the uniformity of their color. But the greatest anomaly of this geological puzzle is, that water-ponds are found . in their very midst—even amcng their highest ridges-and this water not occasional, as from _ ruins, but lying in “lagunas,’ with reeds, rushes, and nympho: growing in them, to attest that the water is permanent! The very last place where water might be expected to make a lodgment. ' Such formations of driftrsand are common. upon the shores of the Mexican Gulf, as well as c on European coasts, and there their existence is easily explained; but here, in the very heart of" a continent, it cannot be regarded as less than a singular phenomenon. This sand-belt is passable at one or two points, but horses sink to the knees at every step, and but for the water it would be a perilous experi- ment to cross it. ' Where is the Llano Estacado? Unroll your map of North America. You will perceive a large river called the Canadian, rising in the Rocky Mountains, and running, first southertlg, ‘ 8 . and then east, until it becomes part of Arkansas. As this erer bends eastward] , it blushes the northern end of the Llano cado, whose bluffs sometimes approach close to its banks, and at other times are seen far off, I star. I rcsrmbling a range of miuntains—for which - they have teen friqueutly mistaken by travel- CTR. lulu ” 1:2 more dcfxnite. Near the head-waters of the Caradian another large river has its source. This is the Pecos. Its course, you will observe, is nearly south, but your map is not correct, as for several hundred miles the Pecos runs within a few degrees of east. It after- ward takes a southerly direction, before it reaches its embouchure in the Rio Grande. Now the Pecos washes the whole western base of the Llano Estacado; and it is this ver The boundary of the west side of the “ Staked ‘ plain, ‘ elevated as it is, that turns the Pecos into its ‘ southerl ccurse, instead of leaving it to flow eastward], like all the other prairie~streams that head in the Rocky Mountains. The eastern boundary of the Llano Estacado is not so definite] marked, but a line of some three hundred miles from the Pecos, and cut- ting the headwaters of the “’ichita, the Louisi- ana Red, the Brazns, and Colorado, will give senie idea of its outline. These rivers, and their numerous tributaries, all head in the eastern “ ceju” (brow) of the Staked Plain. which is cut and channeled by their streams into tracks of the most rugged and fantastic forms. At the south the Llano EstaCudo tapers to a point, declining into the mmuite plains and valleys of runwrons smali streams that dcbouch into the Lower Rio Grande. his singular tract. is without one fixed dweller; ewn the Indian never makes abode noon it beyond the few hours necessary to rest from hi< journey. and there are parts where he ~inurcd as he is to hungcr and thirst—dare not venture to cross it. So perilous is the “jar- nadn,” or crossing of the L'ano E- reads, that throughout all Its length of four hundred miles tlrercurc only two places where traveler; can effect: it in safety! The danger springs from the want at water. for there are. ~pots of grass in abundance; but evan on the well lrfliown The Chief. routes there are at certain seasons, stretches of sixty and eighty miles where not a drop of water is to be procured! In earlier times one of these routes was known asthe “ S nish Trail,” from Santa Fe to San Antonio e Bexar, of Texas; and lest travelers should lose their we , several points were marked with “ los,’ or stakes. Hence the name it has rece ved. The Llano Estacado is now rarely traveled, except by the ciboleros, or Mexican buffalo- hunters, and “ Comancheros,” or Indian traders. Parties of these cross it from the settlements of New Mexico, for the purpose of hunting the buflalo, and trafficking with the Indian tribes that roam over the plains to the east. Neither the hunt nor the tramc is of any great import- anoe, but it satisfies a singular race of men, , whom chance or inclination has led to the adopting itas a means of subsistence. ‘ T ese men are to the Mexican frontier pretty much what the hunter and backwoodsman are n the borders of the Anglo-American set- t ements. They are, however, in many re- spects different from the latter—in arms and ipments, modes of hunting, and otherwise. “The outfit of a cibolero, who is usually also a. ooureur do bois, is very simple. For hunting, he is mounted on a tolerable—sometimes a fine —horse; and armed with a bow and arrows, a hunting-knife, and alon lance. 0f fire-arms he knows and cares noth ng—though there are exce tional cases. A lazo is an important part of his equipment. For trading, his stock of goods is Very limited—often not costin him wenty dollarsl A few bags of coarse read (an article of food which the prairie Indians are fond of), a sack of ” pinole,” some baubles for Indian ornament, some coarse serapes, and tieces of high-colored woolen stuffs, woven at ems; these constitute his “invoice.” Hard- ware goods he does not furnish to any great extent. These stand him too hi h in is own market, as they reach it only after ong carriage and scandalous imposts. Firearms he has nothing to do with; such prairie Indians as use these are furnished from the eastern side; but many Spanish ieces-fusils and cscopettes— have t into he hands of the Comanches throughotheir forays upon the Mexican towns of the south. In return for his outlay and perilous ourney the cibolero carries back dried buffalo- esh an hides—some the produce of his own hunting, some procured by barter from the Indians. Horses, mules, and asses, are also articles of exchange. Of these the rairie Indians possess vest herds—someindivi usls ownin hundreds; and most of them with Mexican randsl In other words, they have been stolen from the towns of the Lower Rio Grande, to be sold to the towns of the U Rio Grande, and the trade is deemed per ectly legitimate—at least, there is no help for it as the case stands. The cibolero goes forth on the plains with a rare escort. Sometimes a large number of these men, taking their wives and families with them, travel together eat like a tribe of wild In- dians. enera y, however, one or two leaders, with their servants and equipage, form the expedition. They experience less molesta- tion from the savages than ordinary travelers. The Comanches and other tribes know their ob- zect, and rather encourage them to come among hem. Notwithstanding, they are often cheated and ill-used by these double-faced dealers. Their mode of transport is the pack-mule, and the “ carreta” drawn by mules or oxen. The car- rate. is of itself a picture of primitive locomo- tion. A pairof block-wheels, cut out of a cotton- wood tree, are joined by a stout wooden axle. The wheels usually approach nearer to theovnl, or square, than the circular form. A long tongue leads out from the axle—tree, and upon top of this a sq'iare, deep, boxhke body is placed. To this two or more pairs of oxen are attached in the most simple m'innci'——l)y lashing a cross- iece of wood to their horns which has already een made fast to the tongue. The animals have neither yoke nor liarncss, and the forward push of the head is the motive power by which the carrots is propelled. Once in motion. the noise of the wooden axle is such as to dcfy descrip- ‘tion. The cries of a whole family, with chil- dren of all six ‘51, in bitter agony, can alone rc- present the concert of terrible sounds; and we must go to South Mexico to find its horrid equal in a. troop of howling monkeys. CHAPTER VI. ABOUT 0. week after the fiesta of St. John, a small party of ciboleros was seen crossing the Pecos, at the ford of the “Bosque Redoudo.” The party was only five in number, and consist- ed of a white man, a half-blood, and three pure- bred Indians, having wsth them a small atajo of pack-mules, and three ox team carrefas. Tho crouching trot of the Indians, as wall as their tilma dresses and sandaled feet, showed that they Were " Indies manzos.” Thcy were, in fact, the hired pains of Carlos the cibolero- the white man, and chief of the party. The half-blood—Antonio b, name—was “ur- l'iero” of the mule-train, w ile the three In- dians drove the ox-teams, guiding them across the ford with their long goads. Carlos himself ling ” prairic. was mounted upon his fine black horse, and, muffled in a strong scrape, rode in front to pilot the way. His beautiful manga had been left behind, partly to save it from the rough wear of such an expedition, and also that it might not excite the cu idity of the prairie Indians, who, for such a autiful mantle as it was, would not hesitate to take his scalp. Besides the manga, the embroidered jacket, the scarlet scarf, and velveteen calzoneros, had all been put off, and others of a coarser kind were now worn in their place. This was an important expedition for Carlos. He carried with him the largest freight he had ever taken upon the prairies. Besides the three carretas, with four oxen each, the atajo con- sisted of five pack—mules, all loaded with mer- chandise —— the carretas with bread, pinole, Spanish beans, Chile peppers: and the packs were made up of scrape blankets, coarse woolen cloth, and a few showy trinkets, as also some S anish knives, with their pointed triangular b ades. It was his bold luck on the day of the fiesta that had enabled him to provide such a stock. In addition to his own original onza and the two he had won, the young ranchero, Don Juan, had insisted upon his accepting the loan of five others toward an outfit for this expedi- tion. The little troop, having safely forded the Pecos, headed toward the ‘ce'a’ of the Llano Estacado, that was not far istant from the crossing of Bosque Redondo. A sloping ravine brought them to the top of the “mesa,” where a firm, level road lay before them—a smooth plain, without brake or bush to guide them on their course. ' But the cibolero needed no guide. No man knew the Staked Plain better than he; and, set- ting his horse’s head in a direction a little south of east, the train moved on. He was striking for one of the head branches of the Red River of Louisiana, where he had heard that for sev- eral seasons past the buffalo had ap ared in great numbers. It was a new route or him— as most of his former ex ditions had been made to the upper forks o the Texan rivers Brazos and Colorado. But the lains around these rivers were at this time n undisputed possession of the powerful tribe of Uomanches and their allies, the Kiawas, Lipans and Tonke- was. Hence, these Indians, uninterrupted in their pursuit of the buffalo, bad rendered the latter wild and difficult of a preach, and had also thinned their numbers. 8n the waters of the Red river the case was different. This was hostile ground. The Wacoes, Panes, Osag and bands from the Cherokee, Kickapoo as: other nations to the east, occasionally hunted there, and sanguinary conflicts occurred amen them; so that one arty or another often los their season’s hunt by t e necessity of keeping out of each other’s ran e; and the game was thus left undisturbed. t is a well-known fact thatin aneutral or “hostile ground ” the but- falo, as well as other game. are found in great- est abundance, and are there more easi y ap- proached than elsewhere. With a knowledge of these facts, Carlos the cibolero, had determined to risk an expedition to the Red river, whose head-waters have their source in the eastern “ ceja” of the Llano Esta- cado, and not in the Rocky Mountains, as laid down upon maps. Carlos was well armed for hunting the buffalo —so was the halfblocd Antonio—and two of the three peons were also experienced hunters. Their arms consisted of the bow and lance, both weapons being preferable to firearms for buf- falo-hunting. In one of the carretas, however, might be seen a weapon of another kind—a long brown American rifle. This Carlos kept for other and higher game, and he well know how to use it. But how come such a weapon info the hands of a Mexican cibolero? Remem- ber, Carlos was not of Mcxicun origin. The weapon was a family rclic. It had been his father’s. lVo shall not follow (‘ai'losmid his “ caravan” through all the detui-s of tlicir weary “ journey- ings” across the desert plain. At one place lhcy made a “ j'il’lllldlt ” of seventy miles with- out watci‘. But the cxpcrieiiccd Carlos knew how to accomplish this without the loss of a single animal. He traveled thus. Having given his cattle as much as they Would drink at the last watering— plnce, ho stiirtcd in the ni'tcrnoon, and fravclcd until near daybreak. Then a belt of two hours was made, so that the animals should gi'azia while the dew was still on the grass. Another long march followed, continuing until noon, then a. rest of three or four hours brought the cool evening, when a fresh spell of marching brought the “jornada” to its end, far on in the following night. Such is the mode of traveling still practiced on the desert stcppes of Chihua- hua, Sonora, and North Mexico. A I'tcr several days’ traveling the cibolero and his party descended from the hiin “ mesh,” and passing down its eastern slopc, arrived on a tributary of the Red river. line the. scenery assumed a new aspect—the aspect of the “ roll— Gentle declivities, with soft, rounded tops declining into smooth, verdant vales, along which meandeer streams of clear g and sparkling water. Here and there along the banks stood roves of trees, such as the ever- green, live the beautiful “ pecan ” with its oblong, edible nuts; the “,overcup," with its odd-looking acorns; the hackberry, with its nettle-shaped leaves and sweet fruits, and the. silver cottonwood. Along the swells could be seen arge trees standing apart, and at almost equal distances, as though planted for an orchard. Their full, leafy tops gave them a fine appearance, and their light pinnate leaves, with the long, brown legumes hanging from their branches, told they were the famous “mesquite” trees—the American acacia. The red mulberry could be seen in the creek bot- toms, and here‘and there the beautiful wild- china-tree, with its retty lilac flowers. The whole surface both of) hill and valley was clad? in a rich mantel of short bufl'alo grass, which gave it the aspect of a meadow late] mown, and springing into fresh verdure. lovely landscape, and no wonder the wild bulls: of the prairies chose it for their favorite range. The cibolero had not traveled far through- this favored region until he came upon the buf- falo si —“roads,” “wallows,” and " bois de vache;’ and next morning he found himself in. the midst of vast herds, roaming about like tame cattle, and browsing at their leisure. 80 little shy werelthey, they scarce deigned to make off at his ap roach! Of course e had reached the end of his 'our- ney. This was his great stock farm. 'hese were his own cattle—as much his as any one else’s; and he had nothing more to do but set to killing and curing. As to his trade with the Indians, that would- take place whenever he shouldlchance to fall in with a party—which he would be certain to do in the course of the season. , Like all men of the prairie, rude trap rs as Well as Indians, Carlos had an eye for t e pic- turesque, and therefore chose a beautiful spot» for his camp. It was a grassy bottom, through. which ran a clear “arroyo” of sweet water, shaded by pecan, mulberry, and wild-china-- trees, and under the shadow of a mulberry grove his carretas were halted and his tent was. pitched. 4__ CHAPTER VII. - CARLOS bad commenced his hunt, and was making rapid pro ress. In the first two days he had slaughte no less than twent buffaloes, and had them all carried to cam . fie and An- tonio followmi the buffalo and shot them down, while two of the one skinned the animals, cut up the meat, an packed it to camp. There, under the hands of the third. it underwent the further process of bein “jerked,” that is, cut into thin slices and dri in the sun. The hunt promised to be profitable. Carlos would no doubt obtain as much “tasajo ” as he could carry home, besidrs a large supply of hides, both of which found ready sale in the» towns of New Mexico. _On the third da , however, the hunters no- ticed a change in he behavior of the buffalo. They had suddenly grown wild and wary. Now and then vast gangs flpassed them, runnin ' at full speed, as if terri ed and pursued! t- was not Carlos and his companion that had so‘ frightened them. What then had set them a- running? Carlos conjectured that some Indian tribe was in the neighborhood engaged in hunting them. His con 'ecture proved correct. On ascendin a ridgew ich gave him a view of a beautifu valley beyond, his eye rested upon an Indian encampment. _It consisted of about fifty lodges, standing like tents along the edge of the valley, and fronting toward the stream. They were of a conical form, constructed of a framework of poles set in a circle, drawn together at their tops. and then coveer with skins of the buffalo. “ll aco lodges!” said the cibolero, the m0- mcm his practiccd eye fell upon them. “ Master,” irquired Antonio, “how do you tell that?" Antonio‘s experience fell for short of that of his master, who from childhood had” spent his life on the prairies. “ How?” replied Carlos; “ by the lodges them- sclvcs.” “I should have taken it for a Comanche cniiip,” said thchalf-blood. “I have sccn just such lodges among the ‘ Buffalo-caters.’ ” “ Not so, Antonio,” rejoined his master. “In the Comanche lodge the poles meet at the top, and are covered over with the skins, leaving no outlet for smokc. You obscrve it is not so with these. They are lodges of the VVacoes, who, it is true, are allies of the Comanches.” Such was in reality the fact. The poles, t was a» . l l i 1 w nan-e k‘ A, ~ Mu“- *,qgm_a~_,_.mm.‘- 1': :4 ._ .,¢~_ Jug.“ i l ,. Jam-n.“ I though bent so as to approach each other at the . top, did not quite meet, and an open hole re— mained for the passage of smoke. The lodge, therefi re, was not a perfect cone, but the frus- tum of one: and in this it differed from the lodge of the Conianches. “ The Wncocs are not hostile,” remarked the cibolero. “I think we have nothing to fear' from them. No doubt they will trade with us. But where are they l” This question was drawn forth by the cibo- ,lero observing that not a creature was to be “1H_‘-‘AJ<' . new“. 3-. .AA‘ flaws.“ r, stub-“- ._ _ _ . . i . finches—h- -_. James-MM”: I _ . in a“... , \a -tuw --~—.~ 1- - The White Chief. seen about the lodges—neither man, woman, child, nor animal! And yet it could not be a deserted camp. Indians would not abandon such lodges as these—at least they would not leave behind the fine robes that covered them! No, the owners must be near; no doubt, among the neighboring hills, in pursuit of the buffalo. The cibolero essed ari ht. As he and his companion s looking own u n the en- campment, a loud shoutin reach their ears, and the next moment a y of several hundred horsemen was seen approaching over a swell of the rairle. They were riding slowly. but their an in , foaming horses showed that they had inst le t off harder work. Presently another nd, still more numerous, appeared in the rear. These were horses and mules laden with hu e broii ii misses, the buffalomeat packed up in he sling \' hides. This train was conducted by the w<-v-:- n and boys, and followed by troops of dogs and - reiming children. As thwy 0 his toward the encampment from an opposite direction, Carlos and his companion were not for a while seen. The Indians, however, had not been long amo the lodges before the quick eye of one caugh sight of their two heads above the ridge. A warning cry was uttered, and in a moment every one of the dismounted hunters was back in his saddle and ready for action. One or two galloped 03 toward the meat-train, which had not yet come into camp, while others rode to and fro, exhibiting symptoms of alarm. No doubt they were under apprehensions that the Panes, their mortal foes, had stolen a march upon them. Carlos soon relieved them from this apprehen- sion. Spurring his horse to the crest of the ridge, he drew up in full view of the Indians. A few signs, which be well knew how to make, and the word “amigo!” shouted at the top of his voice, restored their confidence; then a young fellow now rode out in front, and ad- vanced up the hill. When sufficiently near to be heard e halted, and a conversation. partly by signs and partly by means of a little Spanish, enabled him and Carlos to understand each other. The Indian then gallo back, and after a short interval. return vited the cibolero and his companion to the encampment. Carlos of course accepted the courtesy, and a few minutes after he and Antonio were eating fresh huflalo beef, and chatting in perfect amity with their- new hosts. The chief. a fine-looking man, and evidently guessing full authority, became rticularly endly with Carlos, and was muc pleased at hearing that the latter had a stock of goods. He promised tovisit his camp the next morning and allow his tribe to trade. As the cibolero had conjectured, the were Waco Indians—a noble race, one of t e noblest of the prairie tribes. _ Carlos returned to his camp in high spirits. He would now have his oods exchanged for mules-so the chief rom sad—and these were the main objects of h expedition. In the morning, according to appointment, the Indians arrived, chief and all; and the little valley where the cibolero had encaniped was filled with men, women and children. The packs were opened, the goods were set forth, and the whoe day was spent in continuous trading. The cibolero found his customers per— fectly onset; and when night came, and t ey took their departure, not a single item of Car— los’s stock remained on his hands. In its place, however, a handsome mulnda of no less than ‘thirt mules was seen picketed in the bottom of the little valley. These were now the property of Carlos, the cibolero. his eight onzas! Not only would they yield well on his return, ‘ but it was his intention that each of them shOuld carry back its full load of buffalo-hides, or “tasajo.” It would be a successful expedition, indccd; and dreams of future wealtli,_with the hope or" being some day in a condition to advaiicc a legitimate claim to the hand of the fair Cita- lina, were already passing through the mind of Cu rl os. again and in- I Not a bad outlay of lselves, and could manufacture them at will. 1 They would have purchased the long, brown rifle; but that was a souvenir Carlos would not have parted with for a score of mules. For the next day or two the cibolero con- tinued his hunting. He found the buffalo grow every hour more excited and wild. He noticed, too, that the “ running” gangs came from the north, while the Wacoes were hunting to the southward of his camp! It could not be the latter that were disturbing them. Who then? On the third night after his trade with the Indians, Carlos had retired to rest with his people. Antonio kept watch until midnight, at which hour he was to be relieved by one of the peons. , Antonio had grown very sleep . His hard riding after the buffalo had weaned him; and he was doing his best to keep awake for the last half-hour of his vigil, when a snort reached his ears from the direction of the mulada. This brought him tohimself. He placed his ear to the ground and listened. Another snort louder than the first came from the malada— another—and another—quick in succession! “What can it mean? Coyotes? or, perhaps, a hear? I shall wake my master,” said Anto- nio to himself. Stealing gently to the side of Carlos, the half- blood shoo the sleeper by the arm. Aslight shake was enou h, for in an instant the cibolero was upon his set and handling his rifle. He always resorted to this weapon in cases of danger, such as a hostile attack by Indians, usin his bow only in the chase. A ter a word or two had passed between Carlos and Antonio the three peons were awakened, and all five stood to their arms. The little party remained in the midst of the cane- tas, which had been drawn up so as to form a small triangular corral. The high boxes of these would be an excellent protection against arrows; and. as tha‘e was no fire in the camp to make a light, they could not be seen from without. The camp, moreover. was shadowed by the thick foliage of the mulberries. which rendered it still more obscure; while its occu- gants commanded a view of the prairie in front. ut for the wood copses which stood at inter- vals, they could have seen the whole ground iboth u and down the valley and along its sides. hese copses, however, might have con- cealed any number of foes. The hunters remained silent, listening intent- ly At one time they fancied they could see a . ark form crouchin alon the ground in the direction of the mu t at was picketed not , a hundred yards off. The light, however, was so uncertain, not one of the five could be sure of . this. Whatever it was. it moved very slowly, for it appeared to remain near the same spot. Carlos at length set himself to obserVe it more closely. He stole out from the corral, and, followed by Antonio, crawled along the ground. When the two had got nearer the dark object, it was distinctly seen to move. ‘.‘ There is something! whispered the cibolero. At that moment the mules again snorted, and one or two of them struck the ground with their hoofs, as if startled. “ It must be a hear, I fancy,” continued Car- los. “It has the a pearance of one. It will stampede the anima s—a shot will be less likely to do so.” As he said this he raised his rifle, and taking aim as well as the darkness would allow him, pulled trigger and fired. I Itseemed as if the shot had invoked all the , demons of the infernal regions. A hundred voices burst forth in one simultaneous yell. the , hoofs, of a hundred horses rung upon the turf, , the mulada got into motion, the mules squeal- ! ing and plungingr violently, and the next mo- ment every one of them had broken their lziriuts, and were running at a furious gallop out of the valley! A dark band of yelling horsemen was seen c10sing in after and driving them off: and, before Caries Could recover from his surprise, both inulcs and Indians had dis- appeared out of sight and hearing! Not a single one rimained of the whole mu- lmlii, The ground upon which they had been picketed was swept perfectly clear! * ‘l‘.’ 2.: ; . mfg-‘51”! Once a. “rice,” reflected he, even Don Am- brosio might sanction his suit. On that night soft was the slumber and pleasant the dreams 0f Carlos, the cibolero. CHAPTER VIII. . NEXT day he followed his hunting with in- creased nrdor. He was now provided With the means of transport to any amount. There was no fear he should have to leave either his robes or tasajo behind. With his own mules—he had now thirty-five—and that number, With the three carrstas, would carry a splendid freight—— of the value of hundreds of dollars. He had already obtained some dressed robes from the Indians. For these he had parted with everything for which an Indian would V. trade. Even the buttons from ofi‘ his Jacket. and those of his men, the bullion bands and ‘ shining tags of their sombreros—everything about them that glittercdi Their arms of Course not. These the lVacoes ‘id not want. They had similar ones them- ‘ifi" ' . ' ' » - , - v w . ' .cr. CHAPTER lX. .THE first streaks of daylight were just falling upon the )ruii'ic, when the quick, ken) eye of t'lP half-hood, ranging the ground in every llll'N'llOll, was arrested by the appearance of something odd upon the grass. It lay near the spit where the mulada had been picketed. It wins a. darkish object in a recumbent position. \\ as it bushes or gorse? No. It could not be that. Its outlines were different. It was more like some animal lying down—perhaps a large wolf} It was near the place where they had fancxed that the saw something in the dark- ness, and at whic Carlos had fired. Antonio, on first perceiving the object, called his master’s attention to it, and both now gazed over the box of the carreta. scanning it as well as the gm light would permit them. As this ccame brighter, the object was seen more distinctly, while at each moment the curiosity of the ciboleros increased. They more closely; but they were not yet free from apprehensions of a second attack from the Indians, and they prudently remained within the corral. ' At length, however, they could fo 0 an examination no longer. They bad form their suspicion of what the object was, and Carlos an Antonio climbed over the carretas, and pro- ceeded toward it. On arriving at the spot they were not so much an rised—for they had partially antici- pated suc a thing—at finding the body of a dead Indian. It was lying flat upon the face downward, and on closer examination. a wound, from which much blood had run, was perceived in the side. There was the mark of a rifle bullet—Carlos had not fired in vain! They bent down, and turned over the body to examine it. The savage was in full war cos- tume—that is, naked to the waist, and painted over the breast and face so as to render him as frightful as possible; but what struck the cibo- leros as most significant was the costume of his head! This was close shaven over the temples and behind the cars. A patch upon the top was clipped short, but in the center of the crown one long lock of hair remained uncut, and this lock was intermingled with plumes, and plaited so as to hang, queue-like, down the back. The naked temples were stained with vermilion, and the cheeks and bosom daubed in a similar manner. These brilliant ts contrasted with the colorless and deathly ue of the skin, and with the blanched lips and glazed eyeballs, gave to the corpse a hideous appearance. Carlos, after gazing upon it for some moments, turned to his companion with a look of intelli— genes, and pointing to the shaved head, and then to the moccasins upon the Indian‘s feet, in a tone that expressed the satisfaction he had felt at the discovery, pronounced the word: “Pane l” . The dead Indian was a Pane beyond doubt. The tonsure of his hair, the cut of his mocca- sins, his war- int. enabled Carlos to tell this. Just then th he and Antonio remembered that the Panes had themselves gone in the di- rection of the Waco camp! It was not two miles distant—they could hardly fall to find it, even in the night. What if they had taken the Wtzcokef by surprise and had already made their at c Carlos feared he might be toolate to give warning. His Waco friends may have already perished! Whether or no, be determined to proceed at once to their encampment. Leaving Antonio and the peons with direc- tions to guard and defend his own camp to the last, he rode off, armed both with rifle and bow. It was yet but gray day, but he knew the trail leading to the Waco village, and followed it without dimculty. He rode with caution, scan- ning the timber copses before approachin them, and running his eye along the crests o the ridges as be advanced. This caution was not unnecessary. The Panes could not be far ofl—they might still be in am- bush between him and the Waco camp, or halted among the hills. The cibolero had but little fear of meetin one or two of them. He rode a horse in whic he had full confidence; and he knew that no Pane could overtake him; but he might be sur- rounded b numbers and intercepted before he could reac the Waco lodges. That was the reason why he advanced with so much caution. His ears were set to listen attentively. Every sound was noted and weighed—the ‘gobble” of the wild turkey from the branches of the oak; the drumming of the ruffed grouse on some dry knoll: the whistling of the fallow- dcer; or the tiny bark of the prairie murmot. All these were well—known sounds; and as each was title-Tod, the cibolero stopped and listened attentive-1y. Under other circumstances he would not hare hccdcd llli'm, but he knew that these sounds could he imitated, and his car was bent to dvtfl‘l anyiounterfcit. He could dis~ tinguish the Pane trail of the previous night. A strong hand there must have been, by the numerous tracks on the grass. At the crossing of a stream Carlos ccuid detect the prints of moccasins in the sand. There were still some of the party afoot then. though, no doubt, the stolen midada had mounted a good many. f.— Carlos rode on with more caution than ever. “ He was half-way to the “'zico village, and still the Pope trail led in that direction. Surely thee could not have pfhs‘i d without finding it? Such skilled warriors as the Panes would not. They would see the trail of the Wacoes loading to tho cibolero’s own camp—they would soon discover the lodges—perhaps they had already made their nttack—perha s— The reflections of the cibolero were suddenly interrupted; distant sounds fell upon his ear—— shouts and cries of fearful import—with that continued murmur that results from the min- gling of many Voices in loud and confused clamor. Now and then was heard a whoop, at a cheer, or a shrill whistle, rising above the ordinary noiSes, and carrying for over the plain its tones of triumph or revenge. Carlos knew the import of these shouts and cries—they were the sounds of battle i-of terri would hava long since gone out to examine it ble and deadly strife! pap—u. T . that two mounted warriors of that tribe Were in 1 f 1 facts, he turned his horse and rode back toward . the scene of the late cmflfct. / - norant of whence the shot had come, continnzd l They came from behind the hill—the Cibolero was just climbing it. , He spurred his horse, and galloping forward l toits crest, looked down into the valley. The conflict was raging before him! He had a full view of the dreadful sccnc. , Six hundred dusky horsemen were riding about 1 on the plain; some dashing at each other with l couched lanccs—some twangingr their bows from ‘ a distance: and others close together in the hand-to-hand combat of the deadly tomahawld Some were charging in groups with theirlong spears—sumo wheeling into flight, and (‘ltln-rs, dismounted. were battling,r on foot! Some took shelter among the timber islands, and S])Y'llll,.{ out again as thcv saw an opportunin of sund— ing an arrow, or ancing a foemnn in the bark; and so the red contest continued. The first impulse of the cibolero was in gill up forward and mingle in the fight—of course, tak- ing side with the Wacoes. The sound of" the conflict rouswl his blood, and the sight of the ' robbers who had so lately ruined him rendered him eager for revenge. Many of them were ‘ mounted upon the very mule-i they had taken from him, and Cirlos was determined to haw some of them back nga'n. ' He was about to put spurs to his horse, and dash forward, when a sudden change seemed to occur in the conflict that decided him to remain where he was. The Panes were giving way! Many of them were seen wheeling out of the plain, and taking to flight. As Carlos looked down the hill, he saw three of the Pane warriors in full run, making up to the 5 of: where he stood. Most of the band were stil fighting, or had fled in a different di- rection; but these. cutoff from the rest, came directly up the hill at a gallop. The cibolcro had drawn h:s horse under the cover of some trees, and was not perceived by them until they were close to the spot. At this moment the war-cry of the “’acoes was heard directly in their rear. and Carlos saw ursuit. The fugitives looked back, and, see- ng only two advt-rsarios after them, once more wheeled round and gave fight. At their first charge one of the pursuers was killed, and the oiher—whom Carlos now recog— nized as the Waco chief—was left alone against l three assailants. The whip-like crack of the cibolero’s rifle sounded on the air, and mo of the Panes dropped out of his saddle. The other two, ig- their onset on the Waco chief, who, dashing close up, split the skull of one of them with his tomahawk. IIis horse, however, bore him ra idly past, and before he could wheel round, 1. e remaining Pane—an active warripr—rmhed after and thrust lxis long spear into the back of the chief. Its head pasted clear through his body, completely im sling him; and with a. death-whoop, the no is Indian fell from his horse to the ground. . But his enemy fell at the same time. The arrow of the cibolero was too late to Save, though not to avenge. the Waco’s fall. If; icrced the Pane jail; at the moment the latter . ad made his thrust, and he fell to the ground | simultaneously with his victim, still clutching l the handle of the spear! A fearful grouplay dead upon the sword; but {‘«rIOs did not stay to contcm late it. The fight still raged in another p wt of the field, and, flitting spurs to his horse he galloped off to ke part in it. But the Panes had now lost many of their best Warriors, and a general panic had Schlld upon them, ending in their full flight. Carlos followed along With the victorious pursue“, now and then using his l'iflj upon the fl ehw robber". But fearing that a stray p-irty 0 them might attack is own little camp. he turned from the line of pursuit and gall-mud n that direction. On arriving, be found Antonio and toe perms fortified within their corral, and all safe. Stray lndians had passed them, but all appirently too much frightened to have any desire for an attack upon the, little party. As soon as the cibolcro had ascertained these -, CHAPTER X- - As Carlos approached the spot where the ‘chief had been slain, he heard the death-wail chanted by a chm-us of voices. On getting still nearer, he perceiv-‘d a ring of warriors dismounted and stanvliig around a corpse. It was that of the fillen chief. O'hers, » fresh from the pursuit, “era gathering to the place; each taking up the melancholy dirge as e drew nigh. ’ The cibolero alightod and walked forward to the ring. Some X'Ogurdl‘il him with looks of surprise, while otlr rs, who knew he ha i aided , them in the fight, stepped u ) an-l :zras'rvd him by the hand. Om old warrior t'iking Cirlm’s arm in his, lerl him forward to the ring and silently Jointed to the now ghastly f»-n!ur:-s,'ns “much 9 was imprirling to 'he cibol-ro the news that. their chief was dmrll Neither lie nor any of the warriors know The, White Chief. one, now alive, had been witness to the conflict _ in which the chief had fallen. Arouml the spot were high copscs that hid it from the rest of the field, and at the time this conflict oc- ; curred. the fight was raging in a (lifl‘erentdircc- tion. The warrior, therefore, thought he was imparting to Carlos a piece of news, and the latter remained silent. lint there was a mystrry among the braves, and Carlos saw this by their manner. Five 1 Indians lay dead upon the ground Mason/pad! That was the mystery. They were the three ‘ l‘anes, and the chief with the other Waco. They could not have slain each other, and all have fallen on the spot. That was not proba- ble. The Waco and one of the Punes lay apart. The other three were close together, just as they had fall 11, the chief impaled by the Pane spear, hilo’ his slayer lay behind him still grasping; the weapon! The red tomahawk was clutched firmly in the hands of the chief, and the cleft skull of the second Pane showed where it had last fallen. So far the Indians translated the tableau, but the mystery lay not there. \Vho had slain the slayer of their chieif That was the puzzle. Some one must have survived this deadly strife, where five warriors had died together! If a Pane, surely he would not have gone off without that great trophy which would have rendered him famous for life—the scalp of the Waco chief! If a Waco, where and who was These questions passed from lip to lip. No onu was found to answer them, but there were yet some warriors to return from the pursuit, and the inquiry was suspended, while the death- song was again chanted over the fallen chief. Atlength all the braves had arrived on the spot, and stool in a circle around the body One of the warriors ste )ped forward to tie midst, and by a signal intimated that he wished to be. heard. A l‘u'eatlilcss silence followed, and the, warrior began: “ “'acons! our hearts are sad when they should otherwise rejrnice. In the midst of vic- tory a great calamity has fallen upon us. We have lost our father—our brother! Our great chief—he whom we all loved—has fallen. Alas! In the wry hour of triumph, when his strong right hand had hcwn down his enemy on the tlrld—in that moment has he fallen! “ The hearts of his warriors are sad, the lrmrts of his people will long be sad! " Wacocsl our chief has not fallen unaveuged. His slayer lie-s at his foot pierced with the deadly dart, and w luring in his blood. \Vho of you hath done 13 ’3!" Here the spent-er pa. nod for a moment as if waiting for a reply. None was given. “ Wacoes!” he ccntinu «1, “our beloved chief has fallen, and our hearts are sad. But it glads them to know that his death has been avenged. There lies his slayer, still wearing his hated scalp. What brave warrior claitns the trophy? Let him step forth and take it?” Here there was another pause, but neither v ice nor movement answered the challenge. The cibolt-rq was silent with the rest. He did not comprehend what was add, as the speech was in the Waco tongue, and he understood it not. Ho guessed it related to the fallen chief and his enemies, but its exact purport was un- known to him. “Brothers!” again resumed the orator, “ brave men are modest and silent about their deeds. Nerie but a brave warrior could have done this. We know that a brave warrior will avow it. Let him fear not to speak. The Wa- coes will be grateful to the warrior who has avenged the death of their beloved chief. ” Still the silence was unbroken, CXCcpi’: by the voice of the orator. “Brother warriors!” be continued, raisin his voice and speaking in an earnest tore “ I ave said that tlc VVacoes will be grateful for this deed. I have a propole to make. Hear me!” All signified assent by gcstun‘s. “ it is our custom to elect our chiefs from the brach of our tribe. 1 promsc that. we elect him now hnd here—here! on the red field where his predecessor has fallen. I 7m. man for our chief the warrior who has done his tired!" And the warrior pointed to the fallen Pane. ‘ Mv Voice for the brave who has avenged our chief!” cried one. “ Aml mine!" shouted another. “ An mine! and mine! and minel” ex- claimed all the warriors. “Then solemnly be it proclaimed.” said the orator, “ that he to whom beloan this trophy,” he pointed to the scalp of the Pane, “shall be chief of the Waco nation 3" “Solemnly We avow it!” cried all the war- riors in the ring. each placing his hand over his heart as he spoke. I “Enoughl said the orator. “Who is chief of the “Waco warriors! Let him declare him- salf on the spot!” A dead silence enmel. Ev ry eye was buey Fm: ruins: the faces mound the circle, every heart was beating to hail thcil‘ new chief. (7 ll'los, unconscious (.3' figA store for him, Was: standing :1 E tie to one side. observing the mammoth of his (ills‘KV C m- i? idea of the question that had been ut. Some one near him. however, who spoke punish, ex- } pluincd to him the subject of the inquiry, and he was about to make a modest avowal, when one of the braVes in the circle exclaimed: “thy be in doubt longer? if modesty ties the tongue of the warrior, let his weapon speak. Behold! his arrow still pierces the body of our foe. Perhaps it will declare its owner—it is a marked one!” “True!” ejaculated the orator. “Let us question the arrow!” And, stepping forward, he drew the shaft from the body of the Pane, and held it aloft. The moment the eyes of the warriors fellupon its barbed head, an exclamation of astonish- ment passed from their lips. The head was of igon! N0 lVaco ever used such a weapon as t at! All eyes were instantly turned on Carlos the cibolcro, with looks ofinquiri and admiration. All felt that it must be from is how bad sped that deadly shaft; and they were the more con- vinced of this because some who had noticed the third Pane pierced with a rifle bullet, had just declared the fact to the crowd. Yes, it must be so. The pale-face was the avenger of their chief. CHAPTER XVII. CARLOS, who by this time had become aware of the nature of their inquiries, now step forward, and, in modest phrase, detailed through the interpreter how the chief had fal< len. and u but part he himself had borne in the conflict. A loud murmur of applause broke from the circle of warriors, and the more excited of the young men rushed forward and rasped the cibolero’s hand. uttering as they dixf so expres- sions of gratitude. Most of the warriors al- ready knew that to him they were indebted for their safety. It was the re rt of his rifle, fired in the night, that had put thgm on their guard, and prevented the Panes from surprising their encampment. else the day’s history might have been very different. In fact, the Panes, through this very signal having been heard, had been themselves surprised, and that was the true secret of their disaster and sanguinary retreat. When, in addition to this service, it was seen how the cibolero had fought on their side, kill- ing several of their foes, the hearts of the Wacoes were filled with gratitude; but now that it became known that the pale-faced war- rior was the avcn er of their beloved chief, their gratitude swel ed into enthusiasm, and for some minutes their loud expressions of it alone could be heard. When the excitement had to some extent sub- sided, the warrior who seemed to be recognized as the orator of the tribe, and who was regard- ed with great deference, again stood forth to speak. This time his speech was directed to Curios alone. “White warriorl” he said. “I have ken with the braves of our nation. They a I feel that they owe you deep gratitude, which words cannot- repag'. The purport of our recent de- liberations as been ex lained to you. U on this ground we vowed t at the oven r of him who lies cold should beour futurec ief. We thought not at the time that that brave warrior was our white brother. But now we know; and should we for that be false to our vow—to ou romiscd word? No! not even in thought; and ere, with equal solemnity, we again repeat that oath.” "lVe repeatit!” echoed around the ring of warriors. while each with solemnity of manner placed his hand over his heart. “White warrior!” continued the speaker, J‘our promise remains sacred. The honor we offer you is the greatest that we can bestow. It has never been borne but by a true warrior of the “’aco tribe, for no impotent descendant of even a favorite chief has ever ruled over the braves of our nation. We do not. fear to offer this honor to you. “'0 would rejoice if you accept it. Stranger! we will be proud of a white chief when that chief is a warrior such as on! We kn0w you better than vou think. 0 have heard of you from our allies. the Co- manche—we have heard of Carlos, the C'ibolero .' “ We know you are a great warrior; and we know, too, that in your own country, among your own people; you are nothing. Excuse our freedom, but speak we not the truth? We despise your people. Who are only tyrants and slaves. All these things have our Ccmanche brothers told us, and much more of 1,011.. We know who you are, then: we knew you when you came among us. and were glad to See you. “'e traded with you as n frierd. “ “’0 now hail you as a brother. and thus say ‘ —if you how no ties that bind you to your un- grateful nation, we can (fYcr you one that will no! be ungrateful. Live with us—he our chief!” As the speaker ended. his last words were I borne like an echo from lip to lip until they had honor that was ii. ; ' moments he was unable to nka reply. l-lv wrs gone round the, full circle of v~ srriors, and then a breatblcss silence ensued. Carlos was so taken by surprise H or for some not alone surprisml by the smgr‘lzir pv-p'~.~nl WM part Carlos had borne in the affair. No punions with interest. Ilc had not the slightth thus singularly made to him; but tln- km. in A“: 3,, AW“. ‘4: -—.—. . malndn and cargo—quite a little fortune in- ! up the eastern can of the l , iewrlsl ‘ was on horseback. Who. by his, dress and man- i i ‘ dusty road, and he would bait before the door ‘- 110‘ be expecting him for weeks-4mg weeks- had for t The White Chief: TI which the speaker‘betrayed of his chmmetances quite astonished him. True, he had traded much among the Comanches, and was on ndly terms with the tribe, some of whom, times of peace, even visited the settlement of Banllldefonso; but it seemed odd that these savages should have noticed the feet—for fact it was—that the cibolero was mewfiat of an outcast among his own people. Just then he had no time to reflect upon the singulas'i Q! the circumstances, as the warriors wai his 11! l’y. Ila scarce! knew what r¢1y to make. Hope-Oi loss outcast but be was, for a moment the pro- seemed we of . At home was little better 9 a five; here he would be ruler the lord elect of 'I'na Wacoeix, tbor'h as as by name, were we wees men é bur-figment] and mane. e had I re im. is mother and m m ,; but Catalinle that one w him; hareflected no Gauguin-rumba unified, “ I feel from the bonsai at my mm a full sense of the honor ouhave offered to confer upon me. I wish t at b words I could rose how much I thank you, I cannot. Ag words, therefore, shall be few and frank. It true that in my own land I am not honored—I am one of we of itspeo 10; but there is a He that irris me to it—a i'of the heart that calls upon mt! to return. Wu 2008, I have spoken!” “ Enough!” said the orator; “ enough, brave strgmger: it is not for us toi uire into the mo- tives that guide your note. f not our chief, you will muiain our friend. We have et a Way—a poor one—left us to show ourgra ' ude;~ on have suflered from our enemies; you have not your property, but a) been recovered, and shall be yours again. er, we entreat on to remain with us for some days, and par- , {(8 of our rude hospitality. You will stay with us?” The invitation was promptly echoed by all, and as promptly accepted. Abonta week after this dine an atejo of pack- mnlss—_ arly fifty in number—loaded with Emilo- itles and tasajo, w seen strugglih ano Estacado, an heading ii a nor! westerly direction over that desert pluin. The arriero, mounted upon the 911461113 wash halfmlood Indian. Three (ar- n‘” rswn by oxen and driven by dusky "0'08. followed the mule-train, makin name gough to fri hten even the coyotes t at be- nd skulked rough the coverts of me uite. A dashing horseman mounted upon a fine lack steed rode in advance, who, ever and anon turning in his saddle, looked back with a satis- fied glance upon the fine atajo. That horseman was Ca,;'l(og_ The \VHCOGS had not f: otten to be generous. That train of mules ah? those heavy packs were the gift of the tribe to the avenger of their chief. But that was not all. In the breast ocket of the cibolem’s jacket was a ' DOA-1, ’ filled with rare staff also a present from the Wacoes, who promise some day that "WV West should have more of the same. .What did that bolsa contain? coin? money? No. It contained only dust; but that ust was yellow and glittering. It was gold! CHAPTER XI. A O.‘ VALCADE, dusty and waxworn, was seen norm ,r toward the settlement 6! Ban Ildefonso It consisted of an atajo of pubmnles, with some carretas drawn by oxen One man only nfr, could be roeognieed as the Owner of the a no. Despite the fatiguta a long march, despite the coat’ng of dust which covered both horse and rider, it was not dimch to tell who the horseman was. Carlos the cibolero! 13116 far had he resched on his homeward my. Another stretdi of five miles along the Of his humble rancho. Another hour, and his mother, his food siSter,_would fling them- ves into his arms, and receive his affectionate Ollbrace! What a surprise it would be! They would nd what a surprise he em in an- other way! His wonderful luck! The superb ea“ Rosita should have a new dress—not a “W woollen nagua, but one of 8111:, real “"9181! Silk, and a manta, and the prettiest “11' Of satin slippers—she should wear fine "0" ins! on future fiesta days—she should be Wong: 0! his friend Don Juan. His old mother, “0" 0 should drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, will“ 311° referred—no more atnle for her! “9 fine 0 was rude and old—it should come do“ "1d another and better one 0 up in its Em‘no—lt would serve as a sta Is for the 53m» Ind the new rancho should be built be- si eit. In fact, the sale of his mulada would enable hlmto buya good strip of land, and it well too. but was to hinder him to turn ranchero, arm or grass on his own account? It - s ,4).-., . , . 3.41.“ 1;“ . l. . I ’ my ‘3‘ '51.} 42'." .. ‘ ' I I J 'b the atajo. '7'- would be far more respectable, and would give him a bi her standing in the settlement. Noth- ing to hinder him. He would do so; but first one more journey to the plains—one more visit to his Waco friends, who had promised him— H-a! it was this very promise that was the keystone of all his ho es. The silk dress for site, the luxuries for his old mother, the new house, the farm. were all pleasant dreams to Carlos; but he .ndulged a dream of a still pleasanter nature—a. dream that eclipsed them all; and his hopes of its realization lay in that one more visit to the country of the Wacoes. Carlos believed that his poverty alone was the barrier that separated him from Catalina. He knew that her father was not, roperly speak- ing, one of the “rico” class. rue, he was a I'lCO now; but only a few years ago he had been apoor “gambucino”—poor as Carlos himself. In fact, they had once been nearer nei hbors; and in his earlier days Don Ambrosio ad es~ teemed the boy Carlos fit company for the lit- tle Catalina. \Vhat objection, then, could he have tothe cibolero—provided the latter could match him in fortune? “Certainly none,” thought Carlos. “ If I can prove to him that I, too, am a ‘rico,’ he will consent to my marrying Catalina. And ; why not? The blood in my veins—so says in mother—is as good as that of any hidalgo. An , if the Waooee have told me the truth, one more journey and Carlos the cibolero will be able to , show as much gold as Don Ambrosio the miner!" Those thoughts had been running in his mind throughout the whole of his homeward journey. ; Every day—every hour—did he build his airy ' castles; every hour did he buy the silk dress for Rosita—the tea, coffee. and chocolate for his mother: every hour did he erect the new rancho buy the farm, show a fortune in gold-dust, and ; demand Catalina from her father! Chateaux ‘ en Espagne! Now that he was close to his home, these pleasant visions grew brighter and seemed nearer; and the countenance of the cibolero was radiant with joy. What a fearful change was soon to pass over it! Several times he thought of spurring on in a nee, the sooner to enjoy the iuxur of his mother’s and sister’s welcome; and t an be changed his mind again. “No,” muttered he to himself : “I will stay I will better enjoy the triumph. 6 shall all march up in line, and halt in front of the rancho. They will think I have some stranger with me, to-whom belong the mulesf When I announce them as my own they will ‘ fancy I have turned Indian, and made a raid 3 him to look up. Don uan the ranchero wu on the southern provinces. with my stout , bendin over him. , rettagners. I?! ha! ha!” And Carlos laughed ’ hDon 11811]? face hwere ablook as wretched as a e conoci . is own. ave im no ope; am it was “ Poor little Rosy!” he continued; “ she shall , most mechanigcally the words escaped his lips: marry Don Juan this time! I won’t withhold “My mother? my sister?” my consent an longer! It would be better, “Your mother is at my house," replied Don too. He’s a bod fellow, and can protect her Juan. while I’m off on the plains again; :hough one ‘ “ And Rosita!” . more journey, and I have done with the plains. } Don Juan made no reply—the tears were One more journey. and I shall change my title , rolling down his cheeks. from Cages, iigglero, to Senor on Carlos, ! i 2503;318:181} 03:12:, tsiegeing titre. 0th}? . . ,n l rsanaslmse; Again he laughed at the prowect of becoming ‘ “ out with it—let me know the worst! Is she a “ rice,” and being addressed as “ Don Carlos.” deed!” . , “Very od‘d,” Lhought he, “I don’t meet any x “ No, no. nol—I hope not dead I” pled road had an air of loneliness about it, and did not seem to welcome him. As he passed on a feeling of sadness cause stealing over him, which after it bad fairly taken posssfiion he could not get rid of. He had not yet passed a settlement. There were none before reaching his own rancbq which, as already stated, was the lowest in the valley. Still the inhabitai-ts fed the flocks far below that; and it was usual, at such an hour, to see them driving their cattle home. He neither saw cattle nor vaqueros. The meadows on both Sides, where cattle used to graze, were empty! What could it mean! As he noticed these things an indefinite sense of uneasiness and alarm began to creep over him; and this feeling increased until he had arrived at the turning which led to his own rancho. At length he headed around the forkin angle pices of evergreen oaks. came within sight of the house. With a mechanical jerk he dre' his horse upon his haunches, and sat in the sad dle with open jaw and eyes glaring and pro- truded. The rahcho he could not see—for the covav- ing inte sed columns of the cacti—but through the o mugs along their to s a black line was visib e that had an unnatura look, and a strange film of smoke hung over the azotea! “God of heaven! what can it mean!” cried he, with a choking voice; but, without waiting to answer himself, he lsnoed the flanks of his horse till the animal shot off like an arrow. The intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from the saddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence. The atajo soon after came up. Antonio hun- ried through: and there, inside the hot, smo e» blackened walls, half-seated, half-l ing on t ban ueta, was his master, his head longing for war upon his breast, and both hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair. Antonio’s footfall caused him to lookLup—only for a moment. . “Oh, God! My mother—my sister!” And, as be repeated the words, his head once more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell in O'OI’IVBIred heaving. It was an hourot mortal agony; for s0" e secret instinct had re- vealed to him the terrible truth. CHAPTER XII. FOR some minutes Carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made no effort to rouse ‘ himself. ! A friendly hand laid n n his shoulder caused one! I don’t we a soul upon the road, up or “Carried of?” down. Yet it”: not late—the. sun’s above the “Alas. yes!” bluff still. “in re can the people be? And yet “ By whom?” the road’s Covered thick with fresl» horse-tracks! “The Indians.” Ha! the tree 9 have been hcre' l-llt‘y have just peeled up! ut that’s no reason why the people As Carlos asked this uestion, a look of strange are not abroad; and I don’t see even a siraggler! , meaning glanced fromfliis eyes. NOW, I could have believed there was an alarm ; “ Quite sure. of Indians had I not seen these tracks; b t I . mower!" know very well ibut, were the Apachw on t air I “ My mother! What of her?” war-trail, my Comandante and his Whisker-p “She is safe. She met the savages in (he andos would never have ventured so far from doorway, was knocked senseless by s. blow, and the Presidio—that I know. i saw no more." “\Vell there’s something extraordinary! I “But Rosita!” can’t make it out. Porha sthe} ’re all upto the “ No one saw her; but certainly she was town at some fiesta. nton. my boy, you taken away by the Indians.” know all the feastrdays! Is this one!” ' v “ You are sure they were Indians, Dor “ No, master.” Juan?" :‘ And where are all the folks?” “Sure of it. They attacked my house aimed ‘ ‘ Cla’n’t guess, master! Strange we don’t see at the sanw time. hey had previously drivel ome “ So I was thinking. You don’t suppose there have been wild Indians in the neighborhood .9” “ No, master—mint .' They’re the tracks of the ‘lanze s'—onlyan hour ago. No Indians where the. are!” As Antonio said this. both his accent and look had an expression which guided his master to the true meaning of his words, which might otherwxse have been ambi nous. He did not mean that the fact of the fancers having been “ You are sure by Indiana 1’” was on the lookout. and before they got near, we were shut up a ready to dcfen ourselves. Finding this, t soon went off. Fearing for your people, I do out as soon as they were gone, and came here. When I arrived the roof was biasing, and your mother lying senseless in the doorway. Realto- was gdne! Madre de Dios! she was one!” And the young rancherc wept afnes . “ Don Juan !’ said Carlos, in a firm voice; I)" the ound would prevent the Indians from “ you have been a friend—a. brother—to me occupying it, but exactly the reverse. It was, and mine. I know you suffer as much as I do. not “lanoers no Indians,’ but “Inchns no Let-therebeno tears! See! mine are dried u i I weep no more—peer sleep not-till Roda. is rescued or revenge Let us to busineq, then! Tell me all that is known about theaa In- dians—and quick, Don Juan! I have a keen apfitite for your news!” lancers,” that Antonio meant. , Carlos undersde him; and, asthis had been his own interpretation of the tracks, he burst out into a fit of laughter. Still no travelers appeared, and Carlos did not like it. As at be ad not thought of any misfortune to t ose he loved; but the unpeo~ \ e ranchero detailed the various rumors that had been afloat for the three or four days pl.- l 1. .‘,.' . i i. - ,. ,3. ., ,, w; x, , A, . r-.~._ I ~, ‘ is" v - - . w >~ up...” » _ of the road; and having passed the litt e cop— ' I saw them myselfwyour. of! my carile, and for that, one of my peo ' He saw them approag: I “3w "7 "'u“ l-‘«. ,‘r r f' I ' n‘ 10 "Hf ceding—as well as the actual occurrences—how the Indians had been first seen upon the upper gain; their encounter with the shepherds and e driving off of the sheep; their appearance in the valley. and their raid upon his own cattle— for it was his gunltdart’o that lad suffered—and then the after circuinstanus already known to Carlos. He also informed the latter of the activity shown by the troops: how they had tollowad that morning upon the trail of the robbers; how he had desired to accompany them with some of his pt‘OlllL‘; and how the request was refused by tlle conrmdante. “ Refused 9" exolaimml Cirlns, interrogatively. “Yes,” replied Don Juan: “ he said we would only hinder the troops! I fancy his motive was his chngn‘n with me. He does not like me ever smce the fiesta.” “ Well, what then?” “The troop< rcturmd but an hour ago. They , report that they followed the trail as far as the PQCUS, where it crossed striking (lireé't for the Llano Es'acado; and. us the Indians had evi— l dently gone off to the great plains, it Would have been useless to attempt pursuing them further. So they alleged. “The people,” continued Don Juan, “will be only too glad that the savages have gone away, and will trouble thaws». lves no further about it. I have been trying to get up a party to follow them, but not one would venture. Hoteless as it: was, I intended a pursuit with my own peo ple; but, thank God! you have come I" “Ay, pray God it may not be too late to fol- low their trail. But no; only last night at mid- night, ou say? There’s been neither rain nor high Wind—it will be fresh as dew; and if ever hound— Ha! where’s Cibolo?" “At my house the dog is. He was lost this morning: we thought he had been killed or car— ried ofl; but at midday my p'eople found him b the ranchero here covered with mud, and heading where he had received the prick of a spear. We think the Indians must have taken him along, and that he escaped from them on the road. ’ “It is strange enough—Oh! my poor Rosita! -—poor lost sisterl—where art thou at this mo- menti—wheret—wheret—Shall I ever see you againf—M God! my God l” A d Car 05 once more sunk back into his at- titu e of des air. Then sud enly springing to his feet, with clinched fist and flashing eyes, he cried out: “Wide though the prairie lains, and faint the trail of these dastardl rob rs, yet keen is the e e of Carlos the cibo em! I shall find thee yet—- shall find thee, though it cost me the search of a life. Fear not, Rosita! fear not, sweet sister! I come to your rescue! If thou art wronged, woe, woe to the tribe that has done it!" Then turning to Don Juan, be con- tinued: “The night is on—we can do nothing to-night. Don Juan l—friend, brotherl—bring me tuber—tom mother.” ' Their» is s w 1d poetry in the langua e of grief, and there was try in the wor s o the cibolero; but these ursts of poetic utterance were grief, and he again returned to the serious reality of his situation. Every circumstance that could aid him in his urposed pursuit was cansiderod and arranged n a. sober and practi- cal manner. His arms and accouterments, his horse, all were cared for so as to be ready by the earliest hour of light. His servants and those of Don Juan, were to accompany him, and for these horses were also prepared. Pack-mulrs, too, with provisions and other necessaries for a long journey—for Carlos had no intention of returning without the accom- plishment of his sworn purpose—rescue or re- venge. His was no pursuit to be baffled by slight obstacles. He was not going to bring back the re ort “no los pudimos alcanzar. He was reso ved to trail the robbers td‘ the fur- thest oint of the prairies—to follow them to their flatness, wherever that might be. Don Juan as with him heart and soul, for the ranch gmterest in the result was equal to.hi‘s own—his agony was the same. Their poops numbered a score—trusty Tagnos all, who loved their masters, and who, if not warriors by trade, were made so by sympathy and zeal. Should they oVertake the robbers in time, there would be no fear of the result. From all circumstances known, the latter formed but a weak band. Had this not been the case, they would never have left the valle with so trifling a. booty. Could they be overta en before 'oin- ing their tribe, all might yet be well. hey Would be compelled to give up both their plun- der and their captive, and, perhaps, pay dearly for the distress they had occasioned. Time, therefore, was a most important consideration, and the pursuers had resolved to take the trail with the earllest light of the morning. Carlos sle t not—and Don Juan only in short and feveris intervals. Both sat up in their dresses—Carlos l y the bedside of his mother, who, still suffering from the eflects of the blow, I d to rave in her sleep. a cibolero sat silent, and in deep thought. He was busied with plans and conjectures—— conjectures as to what tribe of Indians the ma- ‘V [l , ' v ‘ |-. y. t v - , v 4,“; draft“. ‘1\.,,.'»,-. s an. ; w » .. ‘~ ,u . . Hi * ,. V“ _ awv’iiixh‘ I, I The White Chief. raudem could belong to. Apaches or Comanches they were not. He had met parties of both on his return. They treated him in a friendly manner, and they said nothin of hostilities against the people of San llde onso. Besides, no hands of these would have been in such small force as the late robbers evidently were. Carlos wished it had been they. He knew that" in such a cam, when it was known that the cap- tive was his sister, she would be restored to him. But no; the' had nothing to do with it. Who then?—the utnsi Such was the belief among the people of the valley, as he had been told by Don Juan. If so, there was still a hope -——Carlos had traded with a branch of this pow- erful and warlike tribe. He was also on friendly terms with some of its chiefs, though these were now at war with the more northern set- tiements. But the Jicarillas still returned to his mind. These Were Indians of a cowardly, brutal dispo- sition, and his mortal foes. They would have sealped him on sight. If his sister was their captive, her lot was hard indeed- and the very thought of such a fate caused the cibolero to start up with a shudder, and clinch his hands in a convulsive effort of passion. v It was near morning. The peons were astir and armed. The' horses and mules were saddled in the patio, 'and Don Juan had announced that all was ready. Carlos stood by the bedside of his mother to take leave. She beckoned him near. She was still weak, for blood had fl0wn freely from her, and her voice was low and feeble. “ My son,” said she, as Carlos bent over her, “ knpw you what Indians you are going to pur- sue? “No, mother,” replied Carlos, “ but I fear they are our enemies the Jicarillas.” “Have the J icnrillas boards on their faces and jvwels on their fingers?” "No, mother: why do you ask such aques- tionf—you know they have no beards! My poor mother!” added be, turning to Don Juan; “ this terrible stroke has taken her senses!” “ Follow the trail, then!” she continued with- out noticing the last remark uttered by Carlos in a whisper; “follow the trail—perhaps it will i ide thee to—” and she whispered the rest into 8 ear. “What, mother?” said be, starting, as if at sonyie strange information. “Dost hou think so? - “ I have some suspicion—om mspiciowbut follow the trail—it will guide thee—follow it, and be satisfied!" “ Do not doubt me, mother; I shall be satis- fled of that.” . ‘ “ One promise before you go. Be not rash— be prudent.” “ Fear not, mother! I will.” ‘ “ If it be so—” “ If it be so, mother, ou’ll soon see me back. God bless you !---My b ood’s on fire—I cannot stav!—God bless you, mother l—Farewell l” Next minute the train of mounted men, with Don Juan and Carlos at its head, ssed cut of the great gate, and took the ma that led out from the valley. CHAPTER XIII. IT was not yet daybreak when the party left the house, but they had not started too early. Carlos knew that they could follow the road so far as the lancors had gone, in the darkness; and it would be light enough by the time they lgadkgot to the point where these had turned ac . Five miles below the house of Don Juan the road forked—one, leading southward, was that by which Carlos had returned the evening be- fore; the other, or left fork, led nearly in a direct line toward the Pecos, where there was a ford. The left fork had been that taken by the troopers, as their horse-tracks showed. It was now day. They could have followed the trail at a gallop, as [it was a much—traveled and wall-known path. But the eye of the cibo- lero was not bent upon this plain trail, but upon the ground on each side of it, and this double scrutiny caused him to ride more slowly. On both sides were cattle-tracks. These were, no doubt, made by the cattle stolen from Don Juan—in all numbering about fifty. The cibo- lero said they must have passed over the ground two days before. That would correspond with the time when they had been taken. The trackers soon passed the limits of the valley, and entered the plain through which runs the Pecos. They were about approaching that stream in a direct line, and were still two miles from its banks, when the dog Cibolo, who had been trotting in advance of the party, sud- denly turned to the left, and ran on in that direction. The keen eye of Carlos detected a new trail upon which the dog was running, and which parted from the track of the troopers. It ran in a direction due north. What appeared singular both to Carlos and Don Juan was the fact of Cibolo having taken this new route, as it was not marked by a road or path of any kind, but mere! by the foot- print: of some animals that ha lately passed over it. Had Cibolo gone that way before f Ca '108 dismounted to examine the tracks. “ Four horses and one mule,” he said, s aking to Don Juanu “Two of the horses sho on the fore f‘"et on! : the other two, with the mule, barefoot. Al of them mounted—the mule led —perhaps with a pack. No!” he added, after a little further examination, “it’s not a pack' mule!” lt scarce cost the cibolero five minutes to ur- rive at these conclusions. How he did so was a. mystery to most of his companions— rhaps to all except the half—blood, Antonio. nd yet be yes right in every particular. He continued to scrutinize the new trail for some moments longer. “ The time corresponds,”said he, still address- ing Don Juan. “ They passed yesterday morn- ing before the dew was dry. You are sure it was not midnight when they left your house?” “ Quite sure, ’ replied the ranchero. “It was still only midnight when I returned with your mother from the rancho. 1 am quite sure of that.” “ One more question, Don Juan: How many Indians, think you, were in the party that made their appearance at your house—few or many i” “ Not many, I think. Two or three only could be heard yelling at once; but the trees preVented us from seeing them. I fancy, from the traces left, that the band was a very small one. ram-ho. afterward. There was time enough.” It might be the same that burned the ' Thev could have arrived at my, house 1 “I have reason to believe they were the, same,” said Carlos, still bending over the hoof— ‘ prints, “and this may be. their trail.” “Think you so?” inquired Don Juan. “ I do. See—there! Is this not strange?” Tho aker pointed to the dog, who, mean- while, ad returned to the spot, and stood whimpering, and showin an evident desire to proceed by the trace new y discovered. “ Ve strange,” replied Don Juan. must have traveled it before.” “ Perhaps so,” said Carlos. spoil by an hour’s keeping. Let us first see where these valiant troopers have been to. I want to know that before 1 leave this main path. Let us on, and brisk] .” All spurred their animals Into a gentle gallop, the cibolero leading as before. As before, also, his eyes swept the ground on both sides in search of any trai that might diverge from that on which they traveled. Now and then cross-paths appeared, but these were old. No horses had Iparsed recently upon them, and he did not nice en his pace to exam- inltitliaem' ty i tes’ n h part r a. twen -m nu t e halted u n the bank of the at the for . It was p in that the troopers had also halted there, and turned back without crossing! But cattle had crossed two days before—so said the cibolero—and mounted drivers. The tracks of both were visible in the mud. Carlos rode throu h the shallow water to ex- amine the other si 9. At a glance he saw that no troo had crossed, but some forty or fifty head 0 cattle. After a long and careful examination, not only of the muddy bank, but of the plain above be beckoned to Don Juan and the rest to ford the stream and join him. When Don Juan came n , the cibolero said to him, in a tone full of intel igence: “ Amigo ./ you stand a fair chance to recover your cattle.” “ Why do you think so!" “ Because their drivers, four in number, have been near this spot not much over twenty-four hours ago. The animals, therefore, cannot be far off.” . “ But how know you this!” “ Oh! that is plain enough,” coolly responded the cibolero. “ The men who drove your beasts were mounted on the same horses that made yonder trail.” The speaker indicated the trail which he had halted to examine, and continued: “Very probably We’ll find the herd among the spurs of the ceéa yonder.” As arlcs said this, he pointed to a. number of ragged ridges that form the brow of the Llano Estacado jutted out into the plain. They appeared to be at the distance of some ten miles from the crossin . “ Shall we pus on there?” asked Don Juan. The cibolero did not give an immediate an- swer. He had evidently not decided yet, and was debating in his own mind what course to pursue. “ Yes,” he replied. at length, in a solemn and deliberate voice. “ It is better to be sure. With all my terrible suspicions, I may be wrong. She may be wrong. The two trails may yet come together. ” The latter part of this was spoken in solilo- quy, and, though it reached the ears of Don 1 mm, he did not comprehend its meaning. He was about to ask his companion for an explana- tion, when the latter, suddenly collecting his energies, struck the spurs into his horse, and, calling to them to follow, galloped off upon the cattle-track. After a run of ten miles, which was made in .. H, 3, “But it will not 3 ‘ ‘A l ( -1‘~‘. w..,. l i 1 v _ unders The White Chief. . —l»,'- .. 1L Ideas than an hour the party entered 018T .ravine or point of the plain that protruded l' e 2a deep bay, into the mountai -like side of the high steppe. As they entered this. a sinzular spectacle came under their eyes. The ravine, near its bottom, was covered with zopilotes, or black vultures. Hundreds of them were perched u n the rocks, or wheeling overhead in the air; and hundreds of others ho ped about upon the plain, flappin their broa wings as if in full enjoyment. The coyote, the larger wolf, and the griaaly bear were seen moving over the ground, or quarrelling with each other, though they need not have quarreled—the repast was plenteous for all. Between forty and fifty car- casses were strewed over the round, which Don Juan and his vaqneros, as t ey drew near, , recognized as the carcasses of his own cattle! “I told you so, Don Juan,” said Carlos, in a voice now husky with emotion, “ but I did not expect this. What a deep laid plan! They mivht have strayed back! and that—oh, hor- rib e villain! My mother was right—it is he! it is he I” ~ > “Who, Carlos! “'hat mean you?” inquired Don Juan, wondering at these strange and iii- ~congruous phrases. “Ask me not now, Don Juan! PreSently I :shall tell you all—presently, but not now; my brain’s too hot, my heart is burnin ; prt sently, ‘ resently. The mystery is past— know all—I ad suspicion from the first—I saw him at the :fiesta— saw his bad rufiian gaze bent upon her. Oh, despot! I’ll tear your heart out! 'Come. Don Juan! Antonio! comrades! After we on the trail! It’s easily followed. I know where it will lead—well I know. On!” And driving the spur into the flanks of his horse, the cibolero galloped off in the direction «of the crossing. The wondering troop—Don Juan among the rgstz—set their animals in motion, and galloped .a r. There was no halt made at the ford. Carlcs dashed his horse throu h the water, and the rest imitated his examp e. There was no halt either on arriving at the trace that led north- ward. The dog scampered along it, ye] ing at mtelrvals; and the troop kept close a Ler his 06 a. They had not followed it quite a mile when it Suddenly turned at right angles, and took the direction of the town ! Don Juan and the rest expressed surprise, but there was nothing in all this to surprise the dbolero. He was expecting that. The expres~ clan of his face was not that of astonishment. it‘s? far different—far more terrible to be- His eyes were sunk in their sockets and glen m- in? with a lurid light, as if fire were burning w thin them. His teeth were firm! set—his 1198 White and tightly drawn as 1 he Wu meditating, or had already made, some desper- ate resolve. He scarce looked at the tracks; he needed their guidance no longer. He knew where he was 901’ The trail crossed ‘ rro . Th d ‘Veltemd than a muddya yo 0 08 con h. and the red clay adhered to i“? 3" . It corresponded with that with which he had already been besmoared! Don Juan noticed the circumstance and point- ed it out. 2: He has been here before,” said he. I know it,” replied Carlos; “ I know it all— all.. There is no myste now. Patience, amigo! You shall know 31, but now let me think. I have no time for aught else.” The trail still led in the direction of the town. It did not re-enter the valley, but passed over a slowing country to the ugper lain, and then ran nearly parallel with t e blufis. . “ Master, ’ said Antonio, riding up by the side of Carlos, “these are not the tracks of In- dian horses, unless they have stolen them. Two Of them are troop horses. I know the hem. dura well. They are ofiii-ers’ horses, too. I can tell that from the shoeing.” . he oibolero showed no signs of being aston- ished at this information, nor made he reply. He seemed engrossed with his thoughts. Antonio thinking he had not been heard or u . repeated what he had said. 11 Good Antonio!” said the cibolero, taming i8 eyes on his follower, “ do you think me blind or stupid?” hiqwas not said angrily. Antonio under- stood its meaning and fell back among his com- panions. OIL moved the trackers—now at a gallop, now more slowly, for their animals were by this Ema. somewhat jaded. On the moved, still 999mg the trail, and still heading straight for “it?” , engfah they reached a point where a road slam the 11 per plain led by a zigzag path to Celvalley low. It was the same by which or OS had ascended to perform his great feat 3“ the day of the fiesta. At the top of the fiscent Carlos ordered the party to halt, and Wm} D?“ J uan rode forward to the edge of the Pr0le<§llng chill—at the very spot where he had exfilhlted his skill—the clifi' of Nina Perdida. 0th drew u when near the edge. They 23:13am“ a all view of the valley and the ‘ "if ” -~.. .n' 13:11»L}xl‘yu~“3~'iiif "- , a. Him,” .ltg'w “ ‘ “ Do you see that building?” inquired the cibolero, pointing to the detached pile which lay betwen them and the town. “ The Presidio ?” “ The Presidio.” “ Yes—what of it?” “ She is there! ” CHAPTER XIV. A'r that moment upon the azotea a man was pacin to and fro. He was not a sentinel, thong at opposite angles of the building two of these cou d be seen who carried carbines— their heads and shoulders Just appearing above the crenated top of the battlement towers. The man en pronenade was an officer, and the part of the czotea upon which he moved was the roof of the oflicers’ quarter, separated from the rest by a wall of equal hight with the parapet. It was, moreover, a sacred precinct —not to be disturbed by the tread of common troopers on ordinary occasions. It was the “ u'irter» deck ” of the Presidio. ‘lie Ofi'iCer was in full dress, though not on any duty ; but a single glance at the style and cut of h s uniform would convince any one that he was a “dandy soldier,” and loved to appear at; all times in fine feathers. The gold hoe and bright-colored broad—cloth seemed to affect him as his rich plumage does the peacock. Evory now and again he paused in his promenade, glanced down at his lacquered boots, examined the tournure of his limbs, or feasted his eyes upon the jeWeIs that studded his delicate white fin ers. I a was no beauty withal nor hero either; but that did not pi cvcnt him from indulging in the fancy that be was both—a. combination of Mars and Apollo. He was a colonel in the Spanish army, how- ever, and Comandante of the Presidio—for the Eromenader in question was Vizcarra himself. hough satisfied with his own appearance, he was evidently not satisfied about something else. There was a cloud upon his features that not even the contemplation of the lacquered boots or lily-white hands could banish. Some disagreeable thought was pressing upon his min , causing him at intervals to make fitful starts, and look nervously around him. " Bah! ’twas but a dream!” he muttered to himself. “Why should I think of it? ’twas only a dream!” is eyes were bent downward as he ve ex- pression to these abrupt hrases, an as he raised them again chance ided his look in the direction of “La Nina erdida.” No it was not chance, for La Nina had red in his dream, and his eyes were but chewing his thoughts. The moment they rested on theclit! he started back as if some terrible ter were before him, and mechanicall caug t hold of the para- t. His cheeks an den! blanched. his jaws ell, and his chest heaved a hurried and convul- sive breathing! What can cause these symptoms of strong emotion? Is it the sight of yonder horseman standing upon the very pinnacle of the bluff, and on lined against the pale sky? What is there in such an ap rance to terrify the coinandante—for terri ed he is! Hear him! ‘My God! my Godl—it is he! The form 0 his horse—of himself—j ust as he appeared—it is he! I fear to look at him! I cannot—W And the ofiicer averted his face for a moment, covering it with his hands. It was but a moment, and again he looked upward. Not curiosit , but the fascination of fear, caused him to loo again. The horseman had disappeared. Neither horse nor man—no object of any sort—broke the line of the bluffs! “ Surely I have been dreaming again?” mut- tered the still trembling caitiff. “Surely I havo? There was no one there, least of all—— How could be? He is hundreds of miles off! It was an illuSIonl Ha! ha! ha! What the deuce is the matter with my senses, I wonder? That horrid dream of last night has bewitched them! Carrambo .’ I’ll think no more of it 1” As he said this he resumed his pace more briskly, believmg that that might rid him of his un leasant reflections. At eVerv turn, how- ever, is eyes again sought the blufl, and swept along its edge With a glance that betokened fear. But they saw no more of the specter horseman, and their owner began to feel at ease again. A footstep was heard upon the stone steps of the “escalera.” Some one was ascending to the roof. The net; moment the head and shoulders of a man were visible; and Captain Roblado step- ped out upon the aZotea. The “ buenos dias ” that passed between him and Yizcarra showed that it was their first meeting for that day. In fact, neither had been long up- for the hour was not too late for fashionable eepers. Roblado had just break- fasted, and come out on the azotea to enjoy his Havana. “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed he, as he lighted the cigar, “what a droll masquerade it has been! ’Pon my soul! I can scarce get the paint 03; and my voice. after such yelling, won t recover for a week! Ha! ha! Never was maiden wooed -the report that and won in such a romantic, roundabout way. Shepherds attacked—sheep driven OR and soak tered to the winds—cattle carried away and killed in regular battue—old woman knocked over, and rancho given to the flames—beside! three days of marching and counmrmarch' travestying Indian, and whooping at one hoarse: and all this trouble for a poor mi'saua —daughter of a reputed Witch! Hal eel but It would read like a chapter in someEastm‘nro- mance—Aladdin, for instance—only that the maiden was not rescued b some meets at magic or knight errantry. 3! ha! 7" ' This speech of Robiado will disclose what It. I’ perhaps, guessed at already—that the late ine cursion of “ los barbaroz- ” was neither moment! ' less than an affair got up by Viacarra an: aim- self to cover the abduction of the cibolei'n .- . ter. The Indians who had harried the sheep! and cattle—who had attacked the hacienda d ' Don J nan—who had fired the rancho and ur- ried ct! Rosita—were Colonel Vizcarra. hlsofl- cer Captain Roblado, his sergeant Gomez, and ' a soldier named Jose—another minion of hll confidence and will. There Were but the four, as that number was deemed sufficient- for the accomplishment of so. ' atrocious deed; and rumor backed bv tour. 9 gave them the strength of four hundred be sides, the fewer in the secret the better Hm , was the prudence or cunnin oz 81"?)le Most cunningly, too, be they taken theirs measures. The game, from beginning to end, I was played with design and execution worth! , of a better cause. The shepherds were first a tacked on the ugper plain to give certainty to ostile In ians were near. I‘ho scoutin -parties were sent out from the Pred- , dio, an proclamations issued to the inhabitantl l to be on their guard—all for effect; and the - ther swoop upon the cattle was clear proof 0! the presence of “105 barbaros”in the valley. In this foray the fiendish masquers took an op portunity of “ killing two birds with one stone;" for, in addition to carrying out their general design, they gratified the mean revenge which the held against the young rancaem. Their s aughtering his cattle in the ravine had a double object. First, the loss it would be to him gave them satisfaction; but their fine!- pal native was that the animals mig t not stray back to the settlement. Had they done so, after having been captured by Indians, it would have 100 ed suspicious. As it was, they hoped that, long before an one should discover the battue, the wolves an bumrds would do their work; and the bones would only supply food for conjecture. This was the morning)- bable, as it was not likely, whilethe I n alarm lasted, that any one would be bold enough to venture that we . There was nesstw tlement or road, except mils, leading in that direction. Even when the final step was taken, and the victim carried on, she was not brought directly “i it; With ‘°' .3: it“ "' if..." “°°"‘ w n . con e was upon a mule,ledbyoneof themhmaand permitted to see the way they were going, until they had reached the poin where their trail turned back. She was then blinded by a leather-n “tapado,” and in that state carried to the Presidio. and within its walls—utterly ignorant of the distance she had traveled and the place where she was finall'y‘germitted to rest. Every act in the bolical drama was con- . ceived with astuteneu and enacted with a (pare- p. cision which must do credit tothe head of tain Roblado, if not to his heart. He was the principal actor in the whole affair. Vizcarra had, at first, some scruples about the affair—not on the score of conscience, but - of impracticability and fear of detection. This would indeed have done him a serious in 'ury. The discovery of such a villainous so em. would have spread like wildfire over the whole country. It would have been ruin to him. . Roblado’s eloquence, combined with his own vile desires, overruled the slight opposition of : his superior; and, once entered on the affair, - the latter found himself highly amused in car- rying it out. The burlesque proclamations, the exaggerated stories of Indians, the terror of the citizens, their encomiums on his own ener- getic and valorous conduct—all these were a pleasant relief to the ennui of a bamck life, and during the several days’ visit of “10s bar- baros,” the comandante and his on 'n were never without a theme for n irth an laughter. So adroitly had they managed the whole matter that, upon the morning after theflnal coup of the robbers—the abduction of Rosita—- there was not a soul in the settlement them- seIVes and their two aids excepted, that adthe slightest suspicion but that real hostile Indiana were the actors! , . Yes, there was one other who had a suspicion —-only a su icion—Rosita’s mother. Even the girl believ herself in the hands of Indians— if belief she had. CHAPTER XV. “HA! ha! ha! A capital joke, by my honor!” continued Rohlado, laughing as he pufled his cigar. “It’s the only piece of fan I’ve enjoyed since we came to this stupid place. Even in a , ' l‘ t.‘,.}.:.‘mv“-iw5 , J" I” f'L'“ ‘ i we 3. a " humanism, V... . 12 The White frontier post I find that one may have a little I amusement if he know how to make it. Ha! ha! ha! After all, there was a deuced deal of trouble. But come, tell me, my dear comand- ante—for you know by this time—in confidence, was it worth the trouble?” “ I am sorry we have taken it,” was the reply, delivered in a serious tone. Roblado looked up in the other’s face, and now for the first time noticed its gloomy ex- pression. Busied with his cigar, he had not ob- served this before. “ Hola! ’ exclaimed he: “ what’s the matter, my colonel? This is not the look a man should wear who has spent the last twelve hours as pleasantly as you must have done. Something amiss?” “ Everything amiss.” “ Pray what? Surely you were with her?” “ But a moment. and that was enough.” “ Explain, my dear colonel.” “ She is mad!” “ Mad!” “Raving mad! Her talk terrified me. I was but too glad to come away, and leave her to the care of Jose, who waits upon her. I could not bear to listen to her strange jabber- ings. I assure you, camarado, it robbed me of all desire to remain.” “Oh,” said Roblado, “that’s nothing—she’ll get over it in a day or so. She still thinks her- self in the bands of the savages, who are going to murder and scalp her! It may be as well for you to undeceive her of this as soon as she comes to her senses. I don’t see any harm in letting her know. You must do so in the end, and the sooner the better—you will have the longer time to get her reconciled to it. Now that you have her snug within earless and eye- less walls, you can manage the thing at your leisure. No one sus ects—no one can suspect. They are full of the ndians to-day—ha! ha! ha! and ’tis said her inamorato, Don Juan, talks of flitting up a party to pursue them! Ha! ha! 0’” not do that—the fellow hasn’t influence enough, and nobody cares either about his cattle or the witch’s daughter. Had it been some one else the case might have been differ- ent. As it is, there’s no fear of disc0very. Even were the cibolero himself to make his appear- ance- “ Roblado!” cried the comandante, interrupt- ing him, and speaking in a deep, earnest voice. “ Well?” inquired t e captain, regarding Viz- carm with astonishment. “ I have had a dream—a fearful dream; and that-not the ravin s of the girl—it is that is ~ now troubling me. 'ablos! a fearful dream i” “ You, comandante—a valiant soldier—to let a silly dream trouble you! But come what is it? ’m a good interpreter of dreams. I warrant I read it to your better satisfaction.” “ Simple enou h it is then. I thought myself a the cliff of Nina. 1 thou ht that I was one with Carlos, the cibolero. thought that he knew all, and that he had brought me there to punish me—to avenge her. I had no power to resist, but was led forward to the brink. I thought that we closed and struggled for awhile; but at length I was shaken from his grasp and pushed over the precipiCe! I felt myself falling —falling! I could see above me the cibolero, with his sister by his side, and on the extremest point the hideous witch, their mother, who aughed a wild, maniac laugh, and chipped lxer long. bon hands! 1 felt mysclf falling—falling —yet stil not reaching the ground; and this horrible feeling.r continued for a. long, long time —-in fact, until the fearful thought awoke me. Even then I could scarce believo I had been dreaming, so palpable was the impression that romaine . 0h, comrade, it was a. dreadful dream!” “And but a dream- and what signifies—l” “ Stay, Roblado! have not told you all. Within the hour—ay, within the quarter of that time—while I was on this spot thinking OVer it, I chanced to look up to the clifl; and yonder. upon the extreme point, was a horseman clearly outlined against the sky—and that horseman the vory image of the cibolero! I note-i the horse and the seat of the rider, which 1 wall ' remember. I could not trust my eyes to look at him. I averted them for a moment—only a moment: and when I looked again he was gone! 30 quickly had he retired that I was inclined to thin: it was only a fancy— that there had been none-and that my dream had produced the il- Inlion!” “That is likely enou b.” said Roblado, de- siroxm of comforting h s com nion; “likely enough—nothing more nature. . In the first lace, from where We stand to the to of La inn. is a good five thousand varas as t 0 crow flies' and for you, at that distance, to distin- guish Carlos the cibolero from any other horse- man is a plain impossibility. in the second place, Carlos the cibolero is at this moment full ve hundred miles from the tip of my ci , risking his precious carcass for a cartloa of stink hides and a few bultos of dried buffalo- beef. us he that some of his cop r-col- ored friends wil raise his hay~color hair which some of our poblanaa so much admire. And now, my dear comandante, as to your dream, Int unnatural as may be. It could hardly be otherwise than that you should have such a dream. The remembrance of the cibolero’s feat of horseniansliip on that very clifl', and the later affair with the sister, together with the suspicion on may naturally entertain that Senor Car 03 wouldn’t be too kind to you if he knew all and had you in his power—all these thing i, being in your thoughts at one time, must come together incongruously in a dream. The old woman, too—if she wasn’t in your thoughts, she has been in mine ever since I gave her that knock in the doorway. Who could forget such a icture as she then presented? Ha! ha! ha!” The brutal villain laughed—not so much from any ludicrous recollection, as to make the whole thing appear light and trivial in the eyes 'of his com anion. “ hat does it all amount to?” he continued. “A dream! a simple, everyday dream! Come, m dear friend, don’t let it remain on your mind for another instant!" “I cannot help it, Roblado. It clings to me like my shadow. It feels like a presentiment. I wish I had left this _paisana in her mud but. B Heaven! I wish she were back there. I shal not be myself till 1 have got rid of her. I seem to loathe as much as I loved the jabbering idiot.” . “ Tut, tut, man! you’ll soon change your way of thinking— ou’ll soon take a fresh liking—” ” No, Rob ado, no! I’m disgusted—l can’t tell why; but I am. I’Vould to God she were ofi’ my hands!” “ Oh! that's easy enough, and without hurt- ing anybody. She can go the way she came. It will only 1' e another scene in the masquerade, and no one will be the wiser. If you are really in earnest-” “ Roblndo!” cried the comandante, grasping his captain by the arm, “I never was more in earnest in my life. Tell me the plan to st her back without making a noise about it. ell me (finick, for I cannot hear this horrid feeling any onger.” “ Why, then,” be u Roblado, “ we must have another travestie o Indians-we must—” He was suddenly interrupted. A short, sharp groan escaped from Vizcarra. His eyes looked as though about to start from his head. His lips rew white, and the perspiration leaped into rops on his forehead! What could it mean? Vizcarra stood b the outer ed e of the azotea that comman ed a View of t e road leading up to the gate of the Presidio. He was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm. Roblado was further back, near the center of the azotea. He sprun forward, and looked in the direction indicate . A horseman, covered with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road. He was near enou h for Roblado to dis- tinguish his features. izcarra had already ilistinguished them. It was Carlos the cibo- ero! ———....- CHAPTER XVI. THE announcement made by the cibolero on the blufl startled Don Juan, as if a shot had passed through him. Up to this time the simple raiichero had no thought but that they were on the trail 0! Indians. Even the singu ar fact of the trail leadin back to the valley had not undeceived him. e supposed the Indians had made some other and later fora in that quar- ter. and that they would hear 0 them as soon as ihey should descend the cliffs. When Carlos inted to the Presidio, and said: “ She is here!” he received the an- nouncement at first with surprise, then with in- credulity. Another word from the cibolero, and a few mo— ments’ reflection and his incredulity vanished. The terrible truth flashed upon his mind. for he, too, remembered the conduct of Vincarra on the day of the fiesta. His visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him, aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth. For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts, so painful were they. More painful than ever! Even while under the belief that his mistress was in the bands of wild Indians he suffered less. . There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation to female captives, she might esca tb'it dreaded fate, until he and Carlos mi t come up and rescue her. But now the tan that had elapsed—Vizcarra’s character—oh God! it was a terrible thought! and the youn - man reeled in his saddle as it crowed his min . He rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to the ground in the bitterness of his anguish. Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio. He seemedto hema- turing some plan. He could see the sentries on the battlements, the troo rs lounging around the walls in their dark b no and crimson uni- forms. He could even hear the call of the cav- alry bugle as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. He could see the fiiure of a man—an officer—pacing to and fro on t e aaotea, and he could perceive that the latterhad halted, and was observing him. It was at this very moment that Vimrra ‘ portunity? Th ey might spend days in fruitless. i. had caught sight of the horseman on the blufl—- the sight that had so terrified him, and which indeed was no illusion. “ Can it be that fiend himself?” thought Car—' los, regarding the officer for a moment. “Quito likely it is be. Oh! that he were within range of my rifie! Patience—path!an 1 will yet! have my revenge!” And as the s aker muttered these words, he reined back mm the bind and rejoined his companion. A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of proceeding. Antonio was called to their council. and to him Carlos declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio. It was telling Antonio what he had already divined. The meatizo had been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his. keen eyes had been busy on that day. He, too,. had observed the conduct of Vincarra; and long, before their belt he had arrived at an elucida~ tion of the many mysteries that marked the- late Indian incursion. He knew all—his mat— ter might have saved words in telling him. Neither words nor time were wasted, The hearts of both brother and lover were beating too hurriedly for that. Perhaps at that mo»- ment the object of their affection was in l— perhaps struggling with her ruffian a uctori: Their timely arrival might save her! These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no plan they could. adopt. To remain concealed-to skqu about the place—to wait for opportunity—what op» waiting. Days!-—hours—eVen minutes would be tco ong. Not a moment was to be lost be- fore some action must be taken. And what action? They could think of none —none but open action. What! dare a man,- not claim his own sister? Demand her restora- tion? But the then ht of refusal—the thought of" subterfuge—in act, the certaint that such. would be the result—quite terrifi them both. And yet how else could they act? They would at least give publicity to the atrociousz deed; that might serve them. There would be sympathy in their favor— rhaps more. Per.- haps the people, slaves as t ey were, might sur- round the Presidio, and clamor loudly—in some ' way the captive might be rescued. Such Were" ‘ their hurried reflections. “If not rescued,” said Carlos, grinding his: teeth together, “ she shall be reven ed. Though the garrote press my throat, he all not live“ if ‘s‘hIe be dislhonorgd;, I “Jest iti"; '. echo t ie oat ! crie on nan in ‘“ the hilt of his machete. ’ map 3? “Masters! dear masters!” said Antonio, “ you '- - both know I am not a coward. I shall aid red with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible- business. Let us have caution, or we fail. Let us be prudent!” “True we must be prudent. I have already promised that to my mother; but how, com« rades?—bow? In what does prudence consistF-w to wait and watch, while she—oh!” All three were silent for a while. None of” “1931 could think of a feasible plan to be pur- 3116 . The situation was, indeed, a most difiicult one. There was the Presidio, andwithin its walls—perhaps in some dark chamber—the cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar circumstances that her re- lease would be a most difficult enter rise. In the first place, the villain w 0 held her would assuredly deny that she Was there. To» have released her would have been an acknowl- edgment of his guilt. What proof of it could Carlos give? The soldiers of the garrison, not doubt, were ignorant of the whole tzansaction— with the exception of the two or tiree miscre- ants who had acted as aids. Were the cibolero. v 1L I to assert such a thing in the town he wepld he laughed at——no doubt arrested and punished. Even could he offer proofs, what authority was there to hel him to justice? The militar was the law of t e place, and the little show 0 civic ' authority that existed would be more disposed to take sides against him than in his favor. He could ex ct no justice from any quarter. All the proo of his accusation would rest on] Ion = such factsas would neither be underst nor regarded by those to whom he might up a]. The return trail would be easily account for» by Vizcarra—if he should deign to take so much i trouble—and the accusation of Carlos would be r scouted as the fancy of a madman. No one would give credence to it. The ve atrocious- ness of thede rendered it ineredi lo! Carlos and his companions were aware of all: these thin They had no hope of help from. any qua r. There was no authority that could give them aid or redreu. The cibolero, who had remained for awhile silent and th htful, at len 3 he out. His tone was alto . He seem to vo conceived ! some plan that hold out a hope. “ Comrades!” he laid, “ I can think of nothing, but an o n demand, and that must be made within t e hour. I cannot live another hour' . without attempting her rescue—another hour, 3 and what we dread—No! within the hour it! .1 must be. I have formed a sort of plan—it may ‘ , {I I' ! your A '.rv.-.-.... . . not be the most lprudent-«but there is no time for reflection. ear it!” H G0 no r? h “ is will be of no use our appearing before the gale of the Presidio in full force. There. are hundreds of Soldiers within the walls. and our twenty Taguos, though brave as lions, would he of no service in such an unequal fight. I shil! go alone." “ Alone?" .“ Yes; i trust to chance for an interview with him. It I can get that, it is all I want. He is her gnoier; and when the gaoler sleeps, the cap. tive may be freed. He shall sleep then!” The last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker placed his hand mechan- iwxv‘ngkuvw a. q—'|"—— v.1 Y“? ‘ self? There would ically upon the handle of a large knife that was attic in his waist-belt. “He shall sloop then !” he repeated; “and soon, if Fate favors me. For the rest I care not: I am too desperate. If she be dishonored “But how will you obtain an interview?” suggested Don Juan. “He will not give you one. Would it not be better to disguise your- . be more chance of seeing him that way ?” .“No;. I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. Besides, it would cost too much time. Trust me, I will not be rash. I have a plan by which I hope to get near him— to see him, at all events. If it fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the preSent. None of the \vretclies shall know my real errand. Aberwainl I may do as you advise, but now I wearinot wait. I must on to the work. I believe it is he who is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait, Don an. If it be he—” “ “But what shall we do?” asked Don Juan. Can we not assist in any way?” “Yes, perhaps in my escape. Come on, I shall place you. Come on quickly. Moments are days. My brain‘s on fire. Come on 3” So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle «and struck rapidly down the precipitous path that led to the valley. From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of low trees and bushes forming a ' Chaparral,” difficult to pass through, except by following the road itself. ut _there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it might be traversed; and these Were known to Antonio, the h'llf- ’bIOOdi Who had formerly lived in this neighbor— QIQOG By one of these a party of mounted men gmlghtppproach within half-a-mile of the Presi- l dio without attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. To this point, then, fAntonio'was directed to guide the party; and in due time they arrived near the edge of the Jungle. Where, at the command of Carlos, all dismounted, keepin themselves and their horses uo‘der cover of the ashes. ‘ O‘W,” said the cibolero, speaking to Don Jpn". ‘remain here. If I escape, I shall gallop threat to this point. If I lose. my horse. on .shall see me afoot all the same. For sue a short stretch I can run like a deer; I shall not be overtaken. When I returnlshall tell you :how to act. “See! Don Juan!” he continued, grasping the rancliero by the arm, and drawing him for- ward to the edge of the chaparral. "It is he! by Heaven, it is he!” Carlos Pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, «seen above the line of the parapet. "It is the comaudante himself!” said DOD also recognizing him. r . liinough! I have no time for more talk,” trial the eibolero. “Now or never! If I re- tuin. you shall know what to do. If not. I MD a on or killed. But stay here. Stay till late in the night' I ma ' are not mousth y still escape. It maxhelp me. Ill. besides, I carry this gold. I etlid not go in tho dl ‘ ' ' ' y l i'ection of the PreSidio “ligsugllélt “0&1” have d§scovercd him too soon: would hp“, that led through the Chaparral u to Hunt} him out on the main road that ran pr . )8 .mm’ Rats: and this path he took. " “‘0 mulled lllm to the edge of the timber ting then returned to the rest ’ . arios, once on the ma ', ': s, "unto a gallon and dashed d. Spurred bl hone rfrcat gut of the Presidio. owed, keeping close up to t} The (log Libolo lol 10 heels of his horse. CHAPTER XVII. ,, . . . . 'flB-Y the Virgin, it is he!" cxclaimed Roblndo, . W11] a look of astonishment and alarm. “T1m fe‘l‘ow himself. as ! liVe!” “ I knew it !—-I knrw it!" Slll‘it'k'r’d Vizmrra. “Saw him on the clfil‘: it was no vision I" icrc can he have room Iron" 1 “ _ . , .. . .. n Lie name of all the saints, wlcre has the l‘rlaow——" ‘ “Boblado, I must go below! .‘ Will not stiy to int-ct Liin! I channel I” I care not to live, but I shall have full revenge!” , where the head and shoulders of a man were ' Their prisons , No more. Adios! true friend, . adios! With 9' Kras of the r ‘ an h ’ . lea d back to his saddle, aide;3.?e%?d’ cams ’ boldly forward to the . i must go in! , .-. . ._ .o— .. .. ,: . _ .. ‘ _,_' _...... ., .4.~ 13- Chief. “Nay, colonel, better let him speak with us. He has seen and recognised you already. If .yoa appear to shun him, it will arouse sus- picion. He has come to ask our help to pursue the Indians, and that’s his errand, I warrant .0111” ) “Do you think so?” inquired Vizcarra, par- tiall y recovering his self—possession at this con— jeciure. “No doubt of it! What else? He can have no suspicion of the truth. How is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother? Stay where you are, and let us hear what he ' has got to say. Of course, you can talk to hiui from the azotea, while he remains below. If he shows any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let us have him ‘ arrested, and cooled. a few how's in the cala- "oozo. I hope the fellmv will give us- an excuse for it, for I have not forgotten his impudcnce at the fiesta.” “You are right, Roblado; I will stay and hear him. It will be better, I think, and will allay any suspicion. But, as you say, he can have none!” “On the contrary, by your giving him the aid ho is about to ask you for, you may put him entirely off the scent—make him your friend, in fact. Ha! ha!” The idea was plausible, and pleased Vizcarra. , He at once determined to act upon it. i This conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few moments—from the time the a proaching horseman had been first I seen, until 10 drew up under the wall. i For the last tWO hundred yards he had ridden 2 slowly, and with an air of apparent respect—as : though he feared it might be deemed rude to up roach the place of Power by any swaggering ex ibition of horsemanship. On his fine features traces of grief might be observed, but not one 1 sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his heart. , As he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a ‘ respectful salute to the two (fficrrs, whose , heads and shoulders were just visible over the iparapet; and having arrived within a dllzen wpaces of the Well. be ruined up, and taking off iis but again, waited to he addressed. “ What is your business?” demanded Roblado. “ Cavalleros! I wish to speak with the coman- l dante.” This was delivered in the tone of one who is 3 about to ask a favor. It gave Confidence to : Vizcarra, as well as to the holder villain—who, - notwithstanding all his assurances to the’con- l trary, had still some secret misgivin about the cibo ero’s errand. Now, however, it was clear that his first conjectu' e was correct; Carlos had come to solicit their assi tance. “I am he!” answered Vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright. “I am the com— andante. \Vhat have you to communicate, my man?” ' “Your excellency, I have a favor to ask;" and the cibolero again saluted with an humble bow. “I told you so,” whispered Roblado, to his superior. “ All safe, my colonel.” “Well, my good fellow,” replied Vizcarra, = in his usual haughty and patronizing manner, “ let me hear it. If not unreasonable—” “ Your excelleucy, it is a very heavy favor I would ask, but I hope not unreasonable. I am , sure that. if it do not interfere with your mani- fold duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you have already taken in the cause are but too well known.” t. “ I told you so,” muttered Roblado, a second , me. | “ Speak out, man!” said Vizcarra. encourag- , ingly; "I can only give an answer when l have , heard your rrqnest.” l ‘- it is this, your excellency. I am but a poor l cibolero.” l “ You are Carlos the cibolero! I know you.” ' “ Yes. your exocllency, we have met—at the l fiesta of San Juan—” “Yes, yes! I recollect your splendid horse- : maiiship.” “Your excellency is kind to call it so. It I am in great trou- l l l i ' does not aViiil me now. ' bio!" l “ What has befallnn? Speak out, man!" i Both Vizcarra and Roblado gut-saw! the pur- :;port of the cibolei'o’s i'l quest. They desired - that it should be heard by the few soldiers } lounging about the gate, and for that reason l they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that tlirir petitioner might do tho sumo. Not to phligo them, but for reasons of his " own, Carlos replied in a loud voice. He, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the 'senti‘y at the gate. to hear what passed be- tween hims if and the (filters. " \Vcll. your czccllnncy.” replied he, “I live in a poor l‘zinclm, the last in the settlcnn-nt, uiiyh my old ii)otli:‘l‘ and sister. The nigh“ “0‘ fore last it was riltucllml by a party of Indian: —my in -’ilL‘l' loft loi' «load—Jim rancho set.on iii-.1 —‘:'.n'l ll!\' siswr l‘Iil'I"x vl « ll'f” “ I linw l .or-l of all this, my fl‘lcllll -——nay, more, i hich myself hull" out in pursuit of the savages.” “I know it. your cxcwllencr. ' on the plains, and Only I'CJDI‘llPd last night. I I was absent , ’ one.” have heard that your excellency was prompt in pursuing the savages, and I feel grateful.” “ No need of that: I only performed my duty. I regret the occurrence. and syinpathizx with you; but the villains have got clear off. and there is no hope of bringing them to punish- ineiit just now; perhaps some other time—when the garrison here is strengthened—I shall make an incursion into their country, and then your sister may be rccovercd.” 8) completely had Vizcarra been deceived by tho ciboleio's manner, that his confidence and -' coolness had returned, and any one knowings nothing more of the affair than Could be gath- ercd from that conversation would have cer—~ taiiily been deceived by him. This dissiinula» tion both in speech and manner appeared per- fect. By the keen eye of Carlos, however— ‘ with his kn0wledge of the true situation—the tremor of the speaker’s lips, slight as it was, --his uneasy glance—and an occasional hesi-_ tancy in his speech, Were all observed. Though Carlos was deceiving him, he was not deceiving Carlos. “ What favor were you going to ask!” he in-— quircd, after he had delivered his hopeful prom- ~ ise. ‘“ “This, your excellency; that you would al: low your troops to go once more on the trail of . the robbers. either under your own CCHllllf’lld— _ which I would much like—or one of your brave ciliccrs.” Roblado felt flattered. “I would actas guide, your cxcellency. There is not a spot within two hundred miles I am mt sc- quainted with, as Wt ll as I am with this valley; and, though I should not say it, I assure your excellency I can follow an Indian trail with; any hunter on the plains. If your excellencv wi l but send the troop, I promise you I shall~ guide them to the robbers, or lose my reputa- tion. I can follow their trail u‘hcrwer it may lead.” . ‘ “Oh! you could, indeed?” said Vizcarra. ex-s changing a significant glance with Roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of un-‘. easiness. L “ Yes, your cxcellency, anywhere.” .' “ it would be impossible,” said Roblado. “It . is now two days old; besides, we followed it be- ,, yond the Pecos, and we have no doubt the rob- hers are by this time far out of reach of any pursuit. It would be quite useless to attempt. such a thing.” . “Cavallcros!”—Carlos addressed himself to both—“I assure you Icould find them. They . are not so far off.” Both the cnmandante and his captain started, v and visibly turned pale. The cibolero did not ‘ affect to notice this. “Nonsense! my gocd fellow!” stammered Roblado; “they are—at least—hundrids of ‘ miles of! by this—away over the Staked Plain —or to—to the mountains.” ‘ “ Pardon me captain, for differing with you: but I believe I know these Indians—I know to what tribe they belong.” “What tribe?” Simultaneously inquired the I officers, both with an earnestness of manner . and a slight trepidation. in their voices; “ what . tribe? Were they not Yates?” ,. “No,” answered the CIbOItfl‘O, while be ob— served the‘ continued confusion of his qua-,- tioners. 2‘ “Who, then?” ‘ “I believe,” re lied Carlos, “they were not lYutfis—more like y my sworn foes, the Jicaril- ‘ as. “Quite possible!” assented both, in a breath, and evidently relieVed at the enunciation. “ Quite possible!” repeated Roblado. “From the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied that they were the Yutas. It may be a mistake, however. The people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about the-m. Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night.” “Why think you they are. the Jicarillasi" ' askr-d the comandante, once more breathing 1 freely. “ Partly because there were so few of them,” ‘ ‘v replied Carlos. “ Had they been Yutas—” . "But'they were not so few. The. Sluphords report a large band. They have carried (11’ im- v mense numbers of cattle. There must have ’v' been a censiderable force of them, else they ' would not have ventured into the valley—that is certain.” “I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. A small troop of y nr bravo soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their bmty.” Here the lounging lanz' ros erec‘cd their dwarlish bodies, and cndravnred to look taller. “If they were charillas,” Continued Carlos, “ I should not need to follow their trail. They are not in the direction of the Llano. If llIeV , have gone that way, it was to mislead you in pursuit. I knew where they are at tlis m0- iiicnt—iri the mountains.” " 251:1! you think they arc in the mruntains?’ “ I am sure of ii; and ii. [1 lifly Mike from 1301-“, If your PXUE‘HPlll'ff u nun! lazt si-‘nd a. troop, I could guide it Hii‘(~(‘l to tho spot, and withcut following two truil tiny haw :‘zken out 01' the valley—xi Mob I believe “(is only 8. [Mar ideas-1:35 1‘“ 3. ‘ an: 1‘ I . Que. ‘ Would Vizcarra go with it? 14: vi The comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone. “ it would look well," muttered Roblado; “in fact the very thigig you want. The trump ca s seem to drug ght into our hands. You send a force at t 6 request 0 this fellow, who is a nobody here. You do him a service, and yourself at the same time. It will tell well, I warrant you.” " But for him to act as guide?” ‘Let him! So much the better—that will satisfy all arties. He won’t find his J icarillas, —hal ha! al—of course; but let the fool hava his whim 1” “But suppose, camarado, he falls upon our train—the cattle?” “ He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not lgoitfig that way—he don’t intend to follow a trai . e knows some nest of these J icarillas in the mountains—like enough; and to rout them --there‘s a bit of glory for some one. A few sealps would look well ovar the gate. It hasn’t had e. fresh ornament of that sort since we’ve been here! What say you? It’s but a fifty- mile ride.” “ I have no objection to the thin —it would look well; but I shall not go myse f. I don’t like being along with the ellow out there or anywhere else—you can understand that feel- in;i I suppose?” are the comandante looked significantly at his companion. “Oh! certainly—certainly,” replied the lat- ter. “ You may take the troop: or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or the sergeant with them.” “I’ll go myself,” replied Roblado. “ It will be safer. Should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him awa from them, or refuse—yes, it will be better or me to go myself. By my soul! I want to have a brush with these red-skins. I hope to bring back some “hair.” as they say. Ha! ha! ha!” “ When would you start?" “Instantly—the sooner the bettter. That will be more agreeable to all parties, and will gov; our promptitude and patriotism. Ha! I a! “ You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while I make our cibolero ham.” lado hastened down from the anotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding “boots and saddles.” CHAPTER XVIII. DURING the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. The two omcers were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the asotea, and the high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of their turilpo retirement, and waited patiently. e group of soldiers, lounging in the gate- way, and scanning him an h s horse. now amounted to thirt or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the well- own call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone remained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the late conversation, uessed the object of the summons. Carlos elt assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the comandante had not told him. Up to that moment the elbolcro had conceived no fixed plan of action. How could be, where so much depended on chancel Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite—that was to get Vizcurra. alone. If but for a single minute, it would suffice. Entreety, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his own defeat and death. A minute would be enough for van- geance; and with the thoughts of his sister’s ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for this. To anythin r after he scarce gave a thought. Forest-ape, e trusted to chance and his own an crior energy. , {3p to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It had just occurred to him that the comandunte himself might lead the party going out. if so he would take no immediate stop. While acting as guide, his opportunity would be excellent—not only for destroying his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would have no fear of ten times the nurnhnr of lancers. His true steed would carry him l » beyond their reach. The troop wzis going. The bugle told him so. That was the question that now engrossed his_thoughts, as he sat immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the parapet above. Once more the hated face appeared over the wall—this time to announce what the (roman— dante believed Would be glad news to his wretched petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great favor he announced it. ' A gleam of joy shot ovor the features of the n cibolero—not at the announcement, though? Viscarra thought so; but at his observation of The White Chief. the fact that the latter seemed to be now alone upon the azotea. Roblado’s face was not above the wall. “ It is exceedingly gracious of your excel- lency to grant this favor to an humble individ- ual like myself. I know not how to thank ou. -' “No thanks—no thanks; an oflicer of his (Catholic Majesty wants no thanks for doing his ut . A); the comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and seemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his inten- tion by putting a question: “ Am I to have the honor of acting as guide to your excellenc i” “No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain Roblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him.” As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and continued his promenade along the as ten. No d bt he felt ill at ease in a tete-a-tde with the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why he had condescended to gigc all this informatim need not be inquired into; but it was 'ust what the cibolero desnred to know. The atter saw that the time was come—not a moment was to be lost, and, quick as thought, he resolved himself for action. Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle—its butt resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up} to his shoulder—had been seen by no one. he “armors de a a” covering his legs, and the scrape his shou ders, had couiEletel concealed it. In addition to this, his s arp unting knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped observation under the hang- ing corner of the scrape. These were his only weapons. During the short conversation between the comandante and Rohlado he had not been idle though apparently so. He had made a full reconnaissance of the walls. He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of stone steps led up to the azotea. This communication was intended for the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but Carlos knew that there was another escalera, b which the officers ascended; and although e had never been inside the Presidio, be r ghtly con- jectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. He had observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the stone ban uctte, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-p ace by the guard, was at the moment unoccupied. The guard were either inside the house, or had stra ed away to their quarters. In fact, the discip ine of the place was of the loosest kind. Vizcarra, though a dand him~ self, was no martinet with his men. His time was too much taken up with his OWu pleasures to allow him to care for aught else. All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero before Vizcarra re- turned to announce his intention of sending the troop. He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had taken his meas- ures. Silently dismouutingnfrom his horse. Carlos left the animal stand g where he had halted him. He did not fasten him to either rail or post, but simply booked the bridle-rein over the “ horn ” of the saddle. He knew that his well- trained steed would await him there. His rifle he carried under his scrape, though the butt was now visible below the edge, pressed close! y against the calf of his leg. In this way he walked forward to the gate. One doubt troubled him—would the sentry ermit him to pass in? If not the sentry must is! This resolve was quick] y made; and the cibo- lero under his scrape kept his grasp on the han- die of his hunting knife as he approached the ate. g Toe attempt was made to pass through. For- tunately for Carlos. and for the sentry as well, it was successful. The latter—n slouching cnrc- ‘ less fellow—had heard the lore, conversatiorv, and had no suspicion of the other’s design. He made some fochln opposition. notwithstanding: hut Carlos hastily replied that he hnd son-c- thing to say to the comnndanle. who had beck— oned him 11 to the nzotcn. This but half satis- fied the fol ow, who, Lowevcr, reluctantly al- lowed him to pass. Once inside, Carlos sprung to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy silent lrcml of a out. So little noise had his moccasins made upon the stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof. its occupant—although standing but six feet from the head of the escalcru—was not aware of his presence! There was hc—Vlzcnrra himself—the despot —tlie des iler—the violator of a sister‘s inno- cence an honor—llwre was he within six feet of the aveuging brother—six feel; from the muz- zle of his really rifle. and still ignorant of the terrible situation! His face was filmed in an op oslte direction—he snw not. his peril. ’ he lance of the cibolero rosted u n him but an nstant, and then swept the we! s to as- certain if any one was above. He knew there were two sentl‘ios on the towers. They were not visiblevthey were on the outer walls and could not be seen from Carla‘s position. No one } to," ,‘. ; I also was above. His enemy alone was there‘ and his glance in rested upon him. Carlos could ave sent the bullet into back, and such a thought crossed his mind, b was gone in an instant. He had come to tak the man's life, out not in that manner. Even prudence suggested a better plan. His knife would be more silent, and aflord him a better chance of esca when the deed was done! With this i ea, he brought the butt of his: rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel. against the parapet. The iron coming in con- tact with the stone wall ave a tin clink.. Slight as it was, it reached t e ear of t e coma andante, who wheeled suddenly round, amt started at the si ht of the intruder. At first he ex ibited anger but the counts- nance of the cibolero, that had undergone up complete metamo hosis during the short inter val, Soon changed is anger into alarm. “ How dare ou intrude, sirl—how dare—” “ Not so lou , colonell—not so loud—you will! be heard.” 'Rhe low husky voice, and the firm tone of? command, in which they were uttered, terrified. the cowardly wretch to whom these words: were addressed.‘ He saw that the man who s before him bore in his face and attitude' t xpression of desperate and irresistible re-- 80 vs, that plainly said, “ Disobey, and you are a dead man !” This expression was hightened by the gleam-- ing blade of a long knife. whose haft was firmly grasped by the hand of the cibolero. At sight of these demonstrations Vizcarrax turned white with terror. He now compre- hended wh.was meant. The asking for the troop had been but a subterfuge to get near his own person! The cibolero had tracked him: his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or have vengeance! The horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling with the horrors of the fearful reality before him. . He scarce knew what to say—he eoaH scarce- speak. He looked wildly around in hopes of seeing some help. Not aface or for- was in sight—nothing but the gray walls and before him the frowning face of his terrible an o— nist. He would have called for help; but at: face, that angy attitude, told him that thex {bouth would his last. He gasped out at: engt : “ What went youi” “ 1 want my sister!” “ Your sister?” “ My sister 1” “ Carlos—I know not-she is not here—I—” “Liar! she is within these walls. See! yon. der the dog howls by the door. Why is that!” Carlos inted to a door in the lower part of the build ng. where the dog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and makiu other demon- strations, as if he wanted to get side! A sol- dier was endeavoring to drive him on. Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw the soldier too; but.‘ dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade was gleaming be ore his eyes. The ques- tion of the cibolero was repeated: “Wh is that?” “ I— -know not—” ~ “ Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick, tell me!’ “ I declare, I know not. Believe me—” 1 “False villain! she is here. I have trucked‘ you through all our aths; your tricks have” not served you. eny er once more, and this. to yggur heart. She is here! Where—where—I. sa y‘Oh, do not murder me! I shall tell all.. She—slie—is—here. I swear I have not wronged: her; I swear I have not—” ‘ “ Here, rufflan. stand at this point, close to the wall here. Quick!” The cibolero had indicated a spot from which, art of the patio, or court—yard. was visihlc. ' Iis command was instantly obe ed. for the-{ cram n comandunte saw that certain death was: the alternative. “ Now give orders that she be bronchi; forth !“ You know towhom sle is intrustedfi Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your min- ' ions, either word or gesture, and this knife will. pass through your ribs! Now i” “Oh, my God! my God! it would ruin me! ‘ All would know! Ruin! ruin! I pray you, have mercy, have patience! She shnll be re- s’ored to you—I swear it—lhis Very night!” “This very moment, villain! Qllll'kl pro- (‘ecdl call those who know! Let her he brought forth! Quick! I am on fire! One moment. more—” ' “Oh Heaven! you will murder me—a mo-~ ment— Stow—Ha!” The last exclamation was in a different tone~ from the rest. It was a shout of cxultation—of: triumph! » The face of the comnndante was turned to- ward the escalera by which Carlos had ascend.- ed, while that of the latter looked in the oppow site direction. Carlos. therefore, did not per ccive that a third person had reached the roof,. until he felt his upraised right arm grasped b ' a strong band, and held back! He wrenched h *‘ arm free—turning as he did so—when he found" ‘ ika 76!! life» ter his rel» )n- 1k.. mo! 31"“ ill! of? as: de' 3,, he n_. [y tax 8.. ie is J ;r. 5! re! )f.’ it: or. it: :19“? avgrs run ‘1 1-: r . v-fia 'The White Chief. 15 w himself face to face with a man whom he recog- nized as the Lieutenant Garcia. “ I have no quarrel with you," cried the cibolero; “keep away from me.” The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was leveling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him. The re rt run , and for a momentthe smoke shroud both arcia and the cibolero. One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next moment the other sprung from the cloud evidently unhurt. It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp, was reeking with blood! He rushed forward toward the spot where he had parted with the comandante, but the latter was gone! lie was some distance of! on the awtea, and rv'nning toward the private stair- wav. Carlos cw "7 at a glance he could not overtake him before l e should reach the escalera. and make his dvscent; and to follow him below would now be useless; for the shot had given the alarm. It was a moment of d air—a short moment: for in the next a bright t ought rushed into the mind of the cibolero—be remembered his rifle. There mightbe still time to overtake the co- mandante with that! He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised it to his shoulder. Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinkln into its traplike entrance. His head and shou ders alone ap red above the e of wall, when some alf - involuntary thought induced him to stop and look back. The coward had part1 got over his fri ht now that he had arriv within reach 0 succor, and he glanced back from a feeling of curiosit , to see i the struggle between Garcia and t e cibolero was yet over. He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as be turned his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tum- blin to the bottom of the escalera! T e cibolero saw that his shot had taken ef- fect—he saw, moreover, that the other was dead —he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below; and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded and pierced by a undred lances. His first thought was to descend by the esca- lera, up which he had come. The other we filly led into the patio, already filling wit en. He lea over the body of Garcia, and ran towardt e stairwa . A crowd of armed men was coming up. His “cape was cut off! 8.1318831!) he crossed the dead body, and, running eaaotea, run 11 at e outerpara t and ooked below?Ip 8 p0 p0 It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other ho of escaping. Several lancer: had reachedt eroof, and were charging forward With their pointed weapons. Already carbines were ringing, and bullets whistlin about his ears. It was no time to hesitate. is eye fell upon his bravo horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing the bit. “ Thank Heavan, he is yet alive!" Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the ground without jur . A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side, and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was galloping out into the open plain! Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot Pursuit: but before they could spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edge of the Chaparral, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick foliage. A “My Of lancerS, with'Roblado and Gom’z at their head, rode after. As they approachcl the edge of the chaparral, to their astonish— 1merlijt a score of heads appeared above the 113 [98, and a wild yell hailed their advance! 1 PleS braves! los barbarOs!” cried the banalujS. halting, while some of them wheelrd “ac { mflalarm. .A general halt was made, and e puxsuers waited until reinforcements should 0101119 "h. The whole garrison turned out, and tie chaparra! was surrounded, and at Icn‘ltll entered. But no Indians could be 1:0“!le though the tracks of their animals led throth the blilciit‘t in ever direction. After beating u out for several hours, R0- blado and his troopers returned to the Presidio. CHAPTER XIX. GARCIA was dead. Vizcarra was not. though.» when taken up from where he had fallen, he looked like one who had not long to live, and benuvcd like one who was afraid to die. His face was covered Will) blood, and his cheek Showed the scar of a shot. He was alive, however—~ meaning and mumbling. Fine talking was out of the question, for several of his teeth had been mrried away by the bullet. is w; and was a mere face wound. There was not the slightest danger: but the “ medico ” of .the place, a young practitioner, was not suf- fic1ently master of his art to give him that as- surance,‘and for some hours Vizcarra remained in anything but blissful ignorance of his fate. l v . .3 . "3’ ‘ - A' . ‘i‘A’Vssl.;’£:,v;"§!-“g ‘ w ho accompanic The garrison doctor had died but a short time before, and his place was not yet supplied. A scene of excitement for the rest of that day was the Presidio—not less so the town. The whole settlement was roused by the as- tounding news, which spread like a prairie fire throughout the length and breadth of the valley. It traveled in two different shapes. One was, that the settlement was surrounded by “los barbaros,” headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they must be in great numbers, since they had made an open attack upon the military stronghold itself; but that they had been beaten ofi.’ by the valiant soldiers after a desperate conflict, in which many were killed on both sides; that the officers were all killed, including the comandante; and that another at tack might be looked for that night, which would most likely be directed against tne town! This was the first she e of the “ novedades.” Another rumor ha it that the “ Indios man- sos” had revolted; that they were headed by Carlos, the cibolero; that they had made an un- successful attempt upon the Presidio, in which as before, the valiant soldiers had repulsed them, with great loss on both sides, including the comandante and his officers; that this was but the first outbreak of a great conspiracy, which extended to all the Tagnos of the settle- ment, and that no doubt the attack would be renewed that night! To those who reflected. both forms of the ru- mor were incomprehensible. Why should “In- dios braves” attack the Presidio before pro- ceeding against the more defenseless town, as well as the several rich haciendasl And how could Carlos, the cibolero, be their leader? Why should he of all men—he who had just suffered at the hands of the savages? It was well known through the settlement that it was the cibolero’s sister wholhad been carried off. The idea of an Indian incursion, with him at the head of it, seemed too improbable. “ Then, again, as to the conspiracy and revolt. Why, the tame Indians were seen laboring quietly in the fields, and those belonging to the mission were workin at their usual occupa- tions! News, too, he come down from he mines—no symptoms of cons iracy had been observed there! A revolt of t e Tagnos, with the cibolero at their head, would, of the two ru- mors, have been the more likely to be true; for it was well known to all that these were far from content with their lot—but at present there was no appearance of such a thing around. There were they all at their ordinary emggy- ments. Who, then, were the revoltersl th rumors, therefore, were highly improbable. Half the townpeople were soon gathered around the Presidio, and after stories of all shapes had bee definite facts at length became known. These, however, were as mysterious and us- zlin as the rumors. For what reason can! the cibcfiero have attacked the ofiicers of the garri- son? Who were the Indians that accompanied him! 'Were they “braves ” or “mansosl —sav- ages or rebels? The most remarkable thing was that the sol- diers themselves who had taken part is the im- aginary "fight" could not answsr these ues- tions. Some said this, and some that. any had heard the conversation between Carlos and the officers: but that ortion of the affair, though perfectly nature in itself, when taken in Connection with after circumstances only rendered the whole more complicated and mys— terious! The soldiers could give no explanation, and the people returned home, to canvass and discuss the rtfair among themselves. Various versions were in vogue. Some believed that the cibolero had come with the honafide desire to obtain help a ainst the Indians—that. those him were only a few Tagnos whom he had collected to aid in the pursuit— and that the comandante, havingflrst promised to aid him, had afterward refused, and that this had led to the strange conduct of the cibo- lcro! There was another hypothesis that gained more credit than this. It was. that Captain Robiado was the man whom the cibolero had desired to make a victim; that he was guided against him by motives of jealousy; forthe con- duct of Carlos on that day of the fiesta was well known, and had been much ridiculed—‘hat, in failing to reach Rohlado, he had quurrclcd with the conrindante, and so forth. Improbable as was this conjecture, it had many s )lp(.)l'i.0l"§, in the abSencc of the true m0- tive {oi the conduct. of the cibolero. There Were but four men within the Presidio to whom this was known, and only three outside of it. By the general public it was not even suspected. In one thing all agreed—in condemning Car- los the cibolero. The garrote was too good for him; and when taken, they could all promise him ample punishment. The very ingratitude of the abt was magnified. It was but the day before that these same officers had gone forth with their valiant soldiers to do him a service! The man must have been mad! His mother had no doubt bewitched him. To have killed Lieutenant Garcial—he who was such a favorite! Oarq'ambo ! 11 carried back and forward, the ‘ This was true. Garcia was liked by the peo- ple of the settlement—perhaps not so much from the ion of any liar virtues, but in contrast with his superiors. He was an afleble harmle sort of person, and had won general esteem. That ni ht the cibolero had not one friend in San Ilde onso. Nay, we speak wrongl . He had one. There was one heart beating fhr him as fondly as ever—Catalina’s—but she, too, was ignorant of the motives which had led tohia m sterious conduct. hatever these motives were. she knew they could not be otherwise than just. What to her were the calumnies—the gibes—that were hea d upon him? What to her if he had taken the ife of a fellowcreature'l He had not done so without good cause—without some fearful revocation. She believed that in her soul. he knew his noble nature too well to think otherwise. He was the lord of her heart, and could do no wrong! Sorrowful, heart-breaking news was it to her. It boded long separation—perhaps for- over! He dared no more visit the town—not even the settlement! He would be driven to the wild plains—hunted like a wild wolf or the savage bison—perhaps taken and slain! Bitter were her reflections. When should she see him again? Maybe, never! CHAPTER XX. DURING all this time Vizcarra lay groaning upon his couch-not so much with pain as fear, for the fear of death still haunted him. But for that, his rage would have been boundless; but this passion was in abeyance—eclipsed by the terrors that flitted across his conscience. Even had he been assured of recovery he would still have been in dread. His imaginar- tion was diseased by his dream and the after reality. Even surrounded by his soldiers, he feared the cibolero, who ap ed able toaccom- plish any deed and escape its consequences. He did not even feel secure there in his chamber, with guards at the entrance, against that avengo ing arm! Now, more than ever, he was desirous of get- ting rid of the cause-more than ever annous that she should be got rid of; but he reflected that now more than ever was that a delicate and difficult matter. It would undoubtedly get abroad why the cibolero had made such a des- perate attem t upon his life—it would spread until it reac ed high quarters—such a report could not be passed over—an investigation might be ordered; and that, unless he could de- stiioy every trace of suspicion, might be his ru n These were his reflections while in the belief that he was going to recover; when a doubt of this crossed his mind he grew still more anxious about the result. Roblado had hinted at a way in which all might be arranged. He waited with impatience for the latter to make his ap arance. The warlike captain was still engag in beatin the chaparral; but Goma had come in an re- ported that he was about to give up the search and return to the Presidio. To Roblado the occurrences of the day had been rather pleasant than otherwise; and a close observer of his conduct could have told this. If there was anything in the whole busi- ness that really annoyed him it was the wound of the comandante—it Was not fatal! Roblado, more ex ericnced than the surgeon, knew this well. ’1‘ e friendship that existed between the two was a fellow-feeling in wickedness—a sort of felon’s bond—durable enough so long as there was no benefit to either in breaking it. But this friendship did not prevent Roblado from regretting with all his heart that the bullet had not hit his fricnda little higher up or a little lower down—either in the skull or the throat! He entertained this regret from no malice or ill-will toward the, comandante, but simply from a desire to benefit himself. It was long since Roblado had been dreaming of promotion. He was not too humble to l-ope he might one day command the Pl‘OSldiO himself. Vizr-arra’s d