Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 239) (1882 02 21)
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{gt Vl an Sa an mt se A i! lL i Se c oy a’ $2.50 a year. Copyrighted In 1883 by BEADLE AXD ADAMS, =} le PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS Price, Vol..X. Nunber. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. No. 239 The Gold-seeker Guide; or, The Lost Mountain. BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, AUTHOR OF “BLUE DICK,” ‘‘ THE LAND PIRATES,” “‘ THE HELPLESS HAND,” ETC., ETC, Rees NNN art ee S & ae oes ae f Ase Aen” AVES 7 / DOSS ess SECTS SNS JESS S&S 5 ’ hs % SSN \ | | 1 \ h, AS a \ } val “i's THE RATTLESNAKE.”
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The Gold-seeker Guide; THE LOST MOUNTAIN. A Tale of Sonora. BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. GHAPTER L ; A ORY FOR WATER. “Mira! Rl Cérvo Perdido!” (eet The Lost Mountain!) ° : The man who thus exclaims ae ina high- eee on the back of 4 ce athe ' ‘o& alone, as May be deduced from ords; in- steady in company with other men on horseback, a re of them. There are several, wagons, too; cumbrous each with a teamof eight m . Other mules, pack animals, form an a/aje.or, train, which extends in a long line rear- ward, and back beyond’ this a drove cattlé in charge of two or three drovers—these mounted, as a matter of course. The place istim the middle.of a vast plain, one of the Wanos of. Souora, near the northern frontier of this sparsely-inhabited State. Aud the men them- selves, or most of them, are miners, as might be told by certain liarities of costume; further evinced by a paraphernalia of mining tools and machinery seen tinder the canvas tilts ofthe wagons. There afé women seen too, with children .of both sexes and every age. For itis a complete minin establishment on the move from a #cfa, worn ou and abandoned, to one late discovered and still un- worked. Save two of the party all are Mexicans, though not of ke race, Among them may be noted every shade of complexion, from the ruddy white of the Biscayan Spaniard to the copper-brown of the ab- original; many per Bees emcee Opata Indians, one of the tribes called manses (tamed). Distinctive points of dress also, both as to quality ahd cut, de- note difference in rank and calling. There are miners b 0d sang—these in the majo ; teamsters who drive the wagons; arrieros and mozos of the mule train; vagueros with the cattle, and several oth male and female, whose garb and manner proclaim them household servants. The man who has called out differs from all the rest in costume asin calling, for he is a gambusino, or professional gold-seeker. A successful one, too, since he it is who discovered the veta above spoken of, in the Great Sonora Desert, near the border line of Arizona. ‘ Denounced " it as well—that is, made declaration and registration of the discovery, which by Mexican law makes the mine his own, with ex- usive epee of working it, But he is not its owner now. Without sufficient means to undertake the eepuisaion, he has transferred his interest to those o can—Villanueva and Tresillian, a Sinem sg oars 8 ing firm, long established near the town of Arispé; who now, with all their employés and a complete ap- paratus for excava’ % quaking, and amalgamati: —furniture and household gods added—are én row for the new-found lode, with high hopes it may prove a “bonanza.” It is their caravan that is halted on the plain, for to a halt it has come at a hail from the gamLusino himself, acting as its guide. He is some distance in advance of the wagons with two other horsemen, to whom his speech is cularly addressed. Tor they are the chiefs of he caravan, the masters and partners of the min company eae thee! One of them, somew over middle age, is Don Estevan Villanueva, a born Mexican, but with features of pete Spanish type, from his Andalusian ancestry. He is somewhat senior of the. two, and senior partner of the firm, the junior being Robert Tresillian, an Englishman. Up to that mément there had been anxiety on the countenances of both, as on those of their followers; indeed more, a look of gravest ag hamag yer Ita cause is & t; a glance along the —ridden horses, as draught and pack-mules—clearly roclaiming it; all show si oes oe ene =: and drooping ." eS deep down in their sockets, and tongues protruding from lips that look hot and dry, No wonder! For three days they have not tasted water; and the scant herbage of the plains, on which they have been de uring, is without a cle of moisture. It has a season of drought all over Sonora, not a drop of rain having fallen months, and every stream, spring and pool Along their route dried up. Little strange, then, the animals look dis- tressed, and that the minds of the men are filled with gloomy fears as to what might be before them. An- = ra and it may be death to most if not Just in like proportion are their spirits uplifted on h the exclamation of the gambusino. Well know they what it means; good grass and abund- ance of water! All along has he been telling them of ny erg the * ata or ee a y its as a very Paradise of a camping- Tete. No want of water there, he has said, Sow ever dry the season or long-continued the drought; no fear of animals being famished, since not only is there a spring and running stream, but a lake sur- rounded by a belt of meadow-like land, with grass thick, succulent and green as emeralds. ‘** You're sure it’s the Cerro Perdido?” it is Don Estevan who thus doubtingly interro- gates, bis eyes fixed on a solitary eminence seen afar over the plain. ” Si, setor,’’ affirms the guide. } line of animals | saluting a } s of distress, by sides individuals com “Sure as that my | | au | } now comprised in the group, unlike all the others, The Gold-seeker Guide. name's Pedro Vicente. AndI ought to be sure of that, from what my mother told me—the old lady in her life never getting over her anger at the cost of my christening. Twenty silver pesos, with a pair of church candles—big ones, and of best wax! Alithat for only handing down to me»my father’s name, he being Pedro, cn 1a poor gambusino as myself! Car- ramba? ‘The pidres are the veriest extortionars; levy black-ma., more rigorously than either footpad or h’ shwayman.”’ ‘ Yuyt hombse |" rejoins Don Estevan. ‘ Don’t be 80 hard upon the poor priests. And as for the expense your mother bin ie to in celebrating your ba;tismal rites, that’s past and gene. Bo you were poor Once, you're now rich enough to care nothing for such a trifle as twenty do and @ a of = candles.” a e senior partner s truth, as any one who seen Pedro Vieente vines months before, seeing him how, would say. Then was he sparely clad, in garments of faded hue, tattered and dust-stained; his mount the Scraggiest of mustangs—a very - nmante...Now he bestrides_a horse of best blood and shapely proportions, ina deep-tree saddle of stamped leather, with ornamental housings, his own body be- dight with all the.glittering adornments peculiar to that special Mexican dress known _ as ‘‘ ranchero,” eee ne a in the world. His lucky find of old, still in its matrix of quartz—madre dé oro, as 6 Mexican miners call it—with its transference to Villanueya y)Tresillian, has given him sufficient of this same metal with the mint stamp on it for all matters of comfort, costume and equipment. “Oh, bother your christening and candles," pute in the Englishman, with a show of impatience; ‘‘we’ye something more serious to think about. You're quite sure, Sefior Vicente, that yonder emi- nence 4s the, Cerro Perdido?” ‘* I’ve said,”’ laconically and somewhat gruffly an- swers the guide, slightly nettled at doubt cast on his affirmation, by one whom he supposes a stranger to the country and its ways—iu short, a ‘ gringo.” “Then,” pursues Tresillian, ‘‘ the sooner we get to it the better. It’s ten miles off, I take it."’ ‘* Twice ten, cavallero ; and a trifle over.” ‘What! Twenty miles? I can't believe that," “Tf your worship had beén roaming about these anos as long as I ve, you could and would,”’ re- joins the guide, in quiet confidence. “Oh, if you say so, it must be. You seem to know, Setior Vicente, and should, from all I’ve heard of your skill as a path-finder. you're good at finding gold we have the proofs." “ Mil gracias, Don Roberto!" returns the gambusino, with a bow, his amour propre appeassd by the compli- men ; “I've no doubt about the distance, for I’m not trusting to guesswork. I've been over this ground before, and remember that big pa/milia.” He points to a tree at some distance, with stout stem, and a bunch of bayonet-like leaves on its sum- mit—a ies of of which there are several straggieaner the , but this one taller than any. Then adds: ‘If your worship doubts my word, ride “ota and you'll seea P and V carved in the bark, the initials of your humble servant. It was done to commemorate the of my first setting e on the Cerre Perdido.” “But I don't doubt your word,” says Tresi lian, smiling at the odd memento in such an out-of-the- way place; “ certainly not.” “Then, sefior, let me assure -you that from it to the mountain is all of twenty miles, and we'll do well if we get there before sundown.”’ “ In which case, the sooner we start for it the bet- ter. “ Yes, Pedro,”’ adds Don Estevan, ing to the gold-seeker in a friendly, familiar way. “* Ride back and give the order for resuming route. Tell the teamsters and all to do their best.’ ‘“* At your worship’s command,” returns the gam- busin», with a bow and wave of broad-brimmed hat ed high over his head. Then pricking his horse with a spur ha rowels. full five inches in diameter, he canters off toward py Pree it he covers, re: ore reaching it he again un fully up which has not P hn been introduced h bly the oddest, with the g it, the ye be, a oe the traveling party, for two of them are o 6 fair sex—ladies; one middle-aged, and of matronly as- ect; the other a girl, late entered upon her teens. Bnly their faces and the up portion of their forms are visible, for they are de a sort of n—the /itera of Mexico, used by d dames on long journeys, and roads over which carri can- not be taken. The face of the older lady, with dark complexion and features of the Andalusian type, is still attractive, but that of the younger one strik- to the reader, t ingly beautiful. And between the two is a strong f ly resemblance—ns there should be, since they — cea) and chiki—the Sefiora Villanueva er daughter. The lidera is borne between two mules, attached to shafts fore and afi, in charge of a strapping fellow in velveteen jacket, and ealzoneras, botas of stam leather, and som>rero of black glaze, with & of silver bullion around it. But there is a fourth per- no resemblance to any of the wayfarers —save one—the Englishman, To him I, Rhoge for young he is—shows the likeness un le of son to father; and such is the relationship between oan Tresilian, just turned seventeen, is a hand- en sev s0me fallow fair-haired, of bright complexion, and features deli chiseled, but not effeminate in their expression; instead, of a cast which proclaims | courage and resolution, while a ficure tersely knit tells of strength and activity equal to anything. On Se ; = ; = : : | horseback, he sits bending over in his saddle with face close to the curtains of.the litera. There may be eyes inside admiring him; and the expression of his own tells he would fain have itso. But all their eyes, late full of gloom, sparkle delightedly now; the Lost Mountain has been sighted; their fears are over, and'so soon will be their sufferings. * Anda! Adelante! (Advance)”’ shouts Pedro Vi- cente. His words echoed rearward along the line, followed by other cries, with a creaking of wheels aud eracking of whips, as the wagons once more get into motion, CHAPTER It. THE" ** COYOTEROS."’ THE mo miners are not the only travelers making for the Cerro Perdido on this same day. Just.as they bave sighted it, approaching from the south, another party is.a<vancing toward it from the north; though not yet within view of it, from being tors er off, a : swell of the Pigg et ’ Very erent in a rance, and, indeed, almost in every oe ett is this eetond band from that al- ready introduced to the reader; in countof men out- numbering the latter by more than treble th im bulk as a moving mass far inferior to it, Yor with is are Lo wagons, nor wheeled vehicles of any kind; ne mule-train, nor cattle drove. Neither are they incum bered with women and children—least of a litera and ladies. All men;and every one of them on horse- back; each bearer of his own beset soe he may be, so little and light it is. eir sole impedé- menta consist of a few trifling commodities, chiefly provision-wallets, with water gourds ( jes) strap- ped over their shoulders or tied to the er -locks of their horses. Equally unobstructive is their garb, few of them having other articles ef dress than a breech-clout, léggings and moccasins, with a rolled- up blanket or se,apé in reserve. ‘The exceptions are some half-dozen, who ap’ to exercise authority —one especially holding command over all. His insignia are iliar; a coat-of-arms thas would — all the heraldic coer of Ohristen- dom. or does he wear it on his shield, th h one he carries, It is borne on his naked breast of black, in a tattooing of vivid red; the device, a rat- pn _ and coum ney Pn Be head er jaws 6 ape, an te) tongue pro- truding ready to ée. Beneath are other apmbone so. eloquent of dan and menace; one in w , set centrally, well known all over the werld— the “ death’s-h and cross-bones." It need hardly be said that he, embellished with this savage investiture, is an Indian, and his follow- ing the same. Indians they are, of a tribe noted fer bloodthirstiness beyond others of their race, for they are the Wolf-Apaches, or Coyoteros—so-called because of mental and moral attributes whieh likes them to the coyoté—jacka] of the western world. Unaccompanied their women and children, as unincumbered with re, proclaims them on a warlike nem ay ay a 3 oor arms and equipments ng of the same. hey car and fon -shafted lances with pennons attached. thas no doubt once waved above the heads of Mexican lanzeros. Pistols, too, rome even having revolve: with rifles of sores, petners and patent; of whi by their TAL Be oe they well know the If civi ion has taught them nothing else, is y are marching along, not in ruck, er - gling crowd, but regular formation, aligned in rar and ‘* by twos.” Long since have the Horse Indians of both preeie 9 pampa learnt the mill- tactics of their -faced foes—those special to cay: —and p them. But nowhere with more ability and success than in the northern States of M Tamaulipas, Chihuahua, and Sonora— the ground makes it a None such on the an Hane, where this 6 band is now; and m move in mn or extended line, if willing tt; number the marand; aight the Cerro, an- them; whether # be pro- Se +
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e4e STi ater TsO Tres fwewnrww tt Se ay wr” _ dent or possible to contivus on to it without halting for the night. Some say Yes, but most No. It is still good twenty miles off, though appearing scarce ten. Inthe diaphanous atmosphere of the Sonora table-land distances are deceptive, as Pedro Vicente has said. But the native inhabitants, above all the aborigines, are aware of this, and reckon accord- ingly. Besides, the Ooyoteros, like the gambusino, have been over the ground before, and are familiar with every foot of it. So distance has naught to do with their discussion, save as it affects the capability of their horses, Since morving they have made fifty miles, and are fagged; twenty more would be killing work for them. And the twenty to Nau- champa-tepetl will be a nice distance to their next day’s noon halt. The question of continuing on is at length de- cided in the negative, by him of the grotesque her- ald or down from his horse, and proceed- ing icket the animal on the grass. As his ex- ample the force of a command, all the others follow it, and camp is quickly formed. A simple af- fair this: only the tethering out of their steeds, and stripping them of such caparison as they carry. Then follows a search for dry fagots, and the kindling of a fire—not for warmth, but cooking. There is a bit of butchering to precede; these red- akinned rovers have their com t on the hoof —this in the anes of some spare horses driven along en ca>allada. A knife drawn across the throat of one lets bis blood out in a torrent, and he drops down dead, to be skinned and cut up in a trice, the pieces impaled upon sticks and bh the blaze of the fire. But the hi hagists avail themselves of other eomestibles a vegetable kind; seeds from the cones of the pivion, or edible pine, and beans of the algaroia—trees of both sorts grow: near. En- ough of both are collected and to form an accompaniment to the horseflesh. Fruit they find, too, on several species of cactus; the best of them on the péeArtya, whose tall rigid #tems, with limbs like the branches of a candelabrum, tower up around their camp. 80, in the desert—for it is naeh-they are ena) to end their dinner with dessert. To provide something for breakfast besides, a viand rare and strange, but familiar to them,a branch of their tribe—the “ Mezcaleros "—making it their staple food, even to deriving their tribal a — it. + bow it is the eve t plant, = species of magueys (Agare Mericana). core, from which anos the stiff spinous blades, is the eaten, and the mode of preparing itis now made manifest in the Coyotero camp. Several plants are torn out by the roots, their leaves hacked off, and the skin of the core itself, cut a oe au ere: mass of white vegeta substance, large as a man’s head, ora monster mangold-wurzel. Meanwhile, a hole has been “ crowed" in the ground, pit-shaped, ite sides fended by flat sto with a like pavement at the bottom. to this coals are flung, nigh enough te fill it; an interval al- lowed for these to smoider into as and the stones become burning hot. The already up in the horse’s skin late stripped off, red side inward, along with some loose of the fi and the bundle is lowered down into the im- prov oven, then all covered over with a coat of turf. Thus buried it is left to bake all night, and in the morning will afford a meal Lucullus need not have disdained to of. over nm the wild The central y: In that uninhabited aud pathless wilderness, or with paths known only to themselves, they have lit- tle fear of encountering an enemy; and as little dream they, that within less than two hours’ gallop of their cam 65 A sero is another cam) t occup: by the foes o r race, too few te their at- tack. Knew they but ¢ there would on quick uprising among them, a hasty springing Orse, and hurried ride toward Nauchampa-tepetl CHAPTER IL. A RUSH FOR WATER. Meanwaiia, with a of whip and cry ot * Anda!" " Mula tia ’"" the miners have been to drag the wag , -mules totter under their loaded alparejas. ~ the eminence from the place where they had pulled up, the mine laborers, like the English- man, bad been inclined to doubt the guide's ga tin 00 ae distance. ae hee Pace Nao most part spent underground, are, as ors ore, when above it, oddly ignorant of 1 on the sur- face, save what may be learnt inside a iquor sa)oon. Hence their unbelief in Vicente's statement was alto- her natural. But the mule and cattle drivers new better, and that the gambueino was not deceiv- them. me come to this conclusion ere long, a single hour su to convince them of their mistake; at the end of which, though rage | continuously on, and —_—S In twenty minutes after all is changed with them. Horse and hybrid—every animal in the train—have raised head and pricked-up ears, with nostrils dis- tended. Even the horned cattle to rearward have caught the infection, and low loudly in response to the neighing of the horses and the hinnying of the mules. There is a very/racas of noises, » @ Bed- lam broke loose, the voice of the mayor-domo rising above alles he cries out— “ Guarda, la etampeda |" Anda “stampede’’ it becomes, all knowing the cause. The have scented water, and no longer peed whip-lash or ery to urge them on. In: , teamsters and @rrieros find it impossible to restrain them, for it were a struggle against Nature itself. a fe on — between = — woe regardless n, horses, mules, rush simulta- neously and madly forward,as if each had a score of ag ney a their venomous probosces buried deep y. A helter-skelter it is with a wild ye heavily-laden wagons drawn over the ground as light-like and with the velocity of bicycles, but mak- noise as of thunder. For now, near the moun- n’s f the plain is bestrewed with stones; some big to raise the wheels on high, almost to o the eliciting cries from the women and children inside them. No more are Indians thought of for the time; enough * danger without that, from upsets, broken bones, indeed, death. In the end:none of these eventualities arise. Luck- ily—and more by good luck than guiding—the wagons keep their balance, and they within them their places, till all come to a stand again. While still tearing on, they see before them a disk of water lit up by the last rays of departing sunlight, with half-a-dozen horsemen—the reconnoitering party—drawn up on its edge, in attitude of wonder at their coming after so soon. But their animals, still in rush, give no opportu- nity for explanation. On go they into the lake, horses, mules, and cattle mingled together; nor stop til they are belly-deep, with the water up over their nostrils. No more neighing nor lowing now, but all silent, swilling, and contented. CHAPTER IV. EL. OJO DE AGUA. Mornine dawns upon the Lost Mountah, to dis- close a scene such as had wever tx fore been wit- nessed in that solitary spot. For never before had wagon, or other wheeled vehicle approached it. Remote from town or civilized settlement, leagues away from any of the custo routes of travel, the only white men having occasion to visit it had been hunters or gold-seekers; and their visits, like those of , few and far between. Red men, however, have one it more frequently, for ft is not far from one of their great war-trails—that lead- ing from the Apache country to the settlements on the Horcasitas; 60 these savages as a convenes! halting-place sae gs ae raid ys The recopn ng party, sent advance of the cara- van, had discoseted ances of their presence by the lake's edge; but none recent, and nothing to signify. There were no fresh tracks on the meadow grass, nor the belt of naked sand around the water, save those of wiki animals that had come thither to quench their thirst. In confidence, therefore, the miners made camp, though not negligently or carelessly. The old sn diario had seen too much campaigning for that, and directed the wagons to be drawn up in a corral of oval and tails united as the links of a chain, -bodied vehicles, the six inclose a con- siderable space—enough to accommiedate all who have need to stay inside. In case of attack it could be still further strengthened by the bales, boxes, and alparejas of the pack-mules. Outside the animals were staked, and are still upon their tethers, though without much concern about their running away. After the long traverse over tle dry anos, and the suffering they have endured, now on such good grass, and beside such sweet water, they will contentedly siay till it please their masters to remove them. Fires had been kindled the night before, but only for cooking supper; it is summer, and there is no discomfort from cold—heat, rather. And now at dawn the fires are nein, pelgnnee with a view to desayuna, and later on sakfast; for, though the caravan had unex edly run short of wa ar, ite stock of provisions is still unexhausted. Among the earliest up, nay, the very first, is Pedro Vicente. Not with any intention to take part in culinary operations. Gambusino and guide, he would scorn such menial occupations. His reasons for being so early astir are altogether different and two-fold, though but one of them has he made known, and that only to Henry Tresillian. Over night, ere retiring to rest, he had signified his inten- tion to ascend the Cerro in the morning—soon as there was enough of daylight to make the ascent. racticable—in hopes of finding game both of the urred and feathered sorts, he said. For in additiom to his metier as guide to the caravan—being askilled hunter as well as gold-seeker—hbe holds engagement to supply it with venison, or such other meat com-~ modity as may fall to his gun. For days he has had but littl opportunity of showing hunter skill. On the sterile tract through which they have been passing, birds and rupeds are scarce; even such as usually inhabit it having gone elsewhere, in consequence of the long-continued drought. All the more is he desirous to make up for the late deficit, and at least furnish the table of the quality with something fresh. He knows there are game animals on the mountain—a mea, as already said, level-topped, with trees growing over it, besides water; for there is the fountain’s head, source of the stream and lake below. On the night before he had spoken of wild anep as likely to be found above, with antelopes, and possibly a bear or two, also turkeys. Now, in the morning, he is sure about these last, having heard them, as is their wont. before sunrise, saluting one another with that sone- rous call from which they derive their Mexican name, gvajalote, These confidences he has imparted to Henry Tre- sillian, who is to accompany him in the chase, though not from any view of inspiring the latter with its ardor. There is no need; the young En glishman being o hunter by instinct, with a love for natural history as well, and the Lost Mountain promises rich reward for the climbing, in discovery asin sport. Besides, the two have been compagnons de chasse all along the route; babitually bagemer, the fellow-feeling of huntership making such asso- ciation congenial. §o, early as is the Mexican af he beats the English youth by barely a minute o time—the latter issuing from one of the tents that form part of the cena gesoe just as the former has crawled out from between the wheels of a wagon, andee which, rolled up in his frezada, he had e night. With just enough light to identify him, Henry Tresillian is seen to be habited in shooting coat, breeches and gaiters, laced buskins, and a tweed
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4& —— — cloth cap; in short, the costume of an English sportsman—shot-belt over the shoulders,and double- barrel in hand—about to attack a ee re or go tramping through stubble and swedes. The deg imself wears the picturesque dress of is class and country; the gun he carries tee, Be rifle, while the sword-like weapon hanging alo is 3 is the ever-present macheté—in Sonora som salled cortanté, As, overnigh ranged, their in reference to somethin es the programme had been all ar- rchange of h at present has ay in the way of desayuna before setting out. This they find ready and near; at the central camp-fire now blazing up,where several of the women, “‘ whisks’’ in hand, are. bending over pots of chocolate, stirring the substantial liquid to a creamy froth. A taza of it is handed to each of the “ cazadores ” with a “ tortilla enchilada," accompanied by a grace- ful werd of welcome. Then, emptying the cups, and chewing up the tough, leather-like maize-cakes, the hunters slip quietly out of camp, and set their faces for the Cerro. The ascent, commenced almost immediately, is by a@ ravine—a sort of gorge or chine worn out by the water from the epring iead above and disintegrat- ing rains throughout the long ages. They find it steep as a staircase, though not winding as one; in- stead trending straight up from its debouchment on the plain to the summit level, between slopes, these with grim, rocky facade, still more precipitous. Down its bottom cascades the stream—a tiny rivulet now, but in rain-storms a torrent—and along this lies the path, the only one by which the Cerro can be ascended, as the gambusino already knows. ‘* There's no other,’ he says, as they are clamber- ing upward, ‘where a man could make the ascent unless with a Jacob’s ladder let down to him. All around, the cliff is as steep as the shaft of a mine. Even the wild sheep can’t scale it, and if we find any on the summit—as it’s to be hoped we shall—the must either have been bred there, or gone up this way. Guarda!” he adds, in exclamation, as he sees the impulsive English youth bounding on rather recklessly. ‘‘Havea care! Don’t disturb the stones; aa may go rattling down and smash somebody slow ”* “By Jove! I didn’t think of that,”’ returns he thus cautioned, turning pale at thought of how he might have endangered the lives of those dear to him; then ascending more slowly, and with the care enjoined upon him. n due time they arrive at the head of the gorge, there stopping to take breath. Only for an instant, when they proceed on, now no longer in a climb, the ore thence leading over ground level as the plain tself; but still by the rivulet’s edge, through a tangle of trees and bushes At some two hundred yards from the head of the gorge they come into an apeaing, the Mexican as he enters it exclaiming: ‘ Z/ go de agua /” CHAPTER V. LOS GUAJALOTES. Tur phrase, ‘ojo de agua” (the water's x, is simply the Mexican name for a spring, which Henry Tresillian needs not to be told, being already ac- quainted with the pretty tical appellation. And he now sees the thing itself but a few paces ahead, gurgling up in a little circular basin, and sending off ‘ the stream which supplies the lake below. In an instant they are upon its edge, to find it clear as crystal, the | paso a yao as he unslings his drinking-cup of cow’s horn: **T can’t resist taking a swill of it, notwithstanding the gallons I swallowed overnight. After such a long spell of short-water rations, one feels as though he could never again get enough.”’ Then filling the horn, and almost instantly emptying it, heconcludes with the exclamation, ‘t Delecioso!”’ His companion drinks also, but from a cup of solid silver; vessels of this metal, even of gold, being aught but rare among the master miners of Sonora. They aré abous to continue on, when lo! a flock of large birds by the edge of the open! On the ground these are—having just come out from among the bushes—moving leisurely along, with beaks now and then lowered to the earth; in ‘bort, feeding as tur- keysin a pasture-ficld. And turkeys they are, the Mexican saying in a whisper: * Los gquyjalutes |” So like are they to thé domestic bird—only better shaped and every way more beautiful—that Henry Tresillian has no difficulty in identifying them as its wild progenitors. One of superior size, an old cock is at their head, striding to and fro in all the pride of his glittering plumage; which, under the beams of the new risen sun, shows hues vivid and varied as those of the rainbow. A very sultan he seems, fol- lowed by a train of sultanas, and their attendants; for there are young birds in the flock, fledglings, that differ in appearance from the old ones. Suddenly the grand satrap erects his head, and with neck craned out utters a note of alarm. Too late. “ Bang—bang!” from the double-barrel—the sharper crack of the rifle sounding simultaneously— and the old cock with three of his satellites, lies prostrate upon the earth, the rest taking flight with terrified screeches, and a@ clatter of wings loud as the “ whirr’’ of a thrashing-machine. “Not a bad beginning,” quietly observes the gam- busino, as they stand over the fallen game. ‘Is it, sefiorito ?"* “An os but that,” answers the young lish- man, delighted at having secured such a ¢ bot- tom for their bag. ‘ But what are we todo with them? We can’t carry them along.” “Certainly not,” rejoins the Mexican. “ Nor need. Let them lie where they are ti!l we come back. But no," he adds, correcting himself. “ That will never .at slower pace, their The Gold-seeker Guide. do. There are wolves be here, no doubt—certainly coyotes, if no other kind—and on return we might find only feathers. So we must string them up out of reach.” The ——s up is a matter which occupies onl a few minu time; done by one leg thrust throug the opened sinew of the other to form a loop; then the birds hoisted aloft, and hung from the up-curv- ing arms of a tall pit a. And now on!” says the gambusino, after reload- ing guns. ‘* Let us hope we may come across some- thing in the four-legged line, big enough to give everybody a bit of fresh meat for dinner. Likely we'll have to tramp a good he before sighting any; the report of our = will have frightened both birds and beasts, and sent all to the furthest side of the mesa. But no matter for that. I want to go there direct, and at once; for a reason, much % I’ve not yet made known to you.” While epeeuing an anxious expression has shown itself on the gambusino’s face, which, taken in con- nection with his last words, leads Henry Tresillian to suspect something in or on his mind besides the desire to kill game. Moreover, before leaving camp he had noticed that the Mexican seemed to act ina manner more excited than was his wont—as if in a great burry to get away. That, no doubt, for the reason he now hints at; though what it is the young Englishman cannot even give & guess. “May I know it now?’ he asks, with some eager- néss, noting the grave look. “ Certain y you'may, and shall,”’ frankly responds the Mexican. ‘‘I would have told you sooner, and the others as well, but for not being sure about it. I didn’t like to cause an alarm in the camp, without good reason. And Lhope still there’s none. After all, if may not have been smoke.”’ “Smoke! What?” “What I saw, or thought I saw, yesterday eve- ning, just after we arrived by the lake's edge.”’ ** Where?”’ “ To the north-east—a long ways off.” “But if it was asmoke, what would that signify?” “In this part of the world much. It might mean — ay, death.” * You astonish—mystify me, Sefior Vicente. How could it mean that?’ “There's no mystefy in it, muchacho. Where smoke is seen there should be fire; and a fire on these /lanos is likely to be one with Indians around it. ~ do you understand the danger I’m think- ing of?” “Ido. But I thought there were no Indians in this part of the country except the Opatas; and they are Christianized, dwelling in towns.” “True; all that. But the Opata towns are far from here, and in an entirely different direction— the very opposite. If smoke it was, the fire that made it wasn’t one kindled by Opatas, but men who only resemble them in the color of their skin—In- dians, too.” “What Indians do you suspect?” “ Los Apaches.” “Danger indeed, if they be in the neighborhood.” The young Englishman has been long enough in So- nora to have acquaintance with the character of these cruel savages. ‘‘ But 1 hope they’re not,’ he adds, trustfully, still with some apprehension, as his thoughts turn to those below. “That hope I heartily echo,” rejoins the Mexican, “forif they be about, we've got to look out for the skin of our heads. But come, muchacho mio! Don’t let us be down in the mouth till we’re sure there is a danger. ‘As l’ve said, I’m not even sure of having seen smoke at all. It might have been a dust whirl. Just as I noticed the thing, the estampeda com- menced; and after it the rush for water, which of course took off my attention. When that was over, and I avain turn my eyes north-eastward, it was too dark to distinguish smoke or anything else, I then looked for a light all along the ~ line, and also several times during the night—luckily to see none. For all I can’t help having fears. A man who’s once. been prisoner to the Apaches never travels through a district where they’re like to be encountered without some apprehension. Mine ought to be of the keenest. I’ve not only been their prisoner, but rather roughly handled, as no doubt | you'll admit, after looking at this.” Saying which, the Mexican opens his shirt ——_ isk, bearing rude resemblance to a “ death’s-head,”’ laying bare his breast; on whieh appears a burnt deep into the skin. “They gave me that brand,’’ he continues, ‘ just by way of amusing themselves. They meant to have further diversion out of it by using, meas a target, and it for a center-mark, at oue of their shooting-matches. Luckily, before that came off, I found the chance of giv ng them leg-bail. Now, muchacho, you'll better unde be up here so early, and why I want to push on to the other end. Vamonos !”’ Shouldering their guns they proceed onward; now rogress obstructed: by thick- growing bushes and trees, with Uianas interlacing. For beyond the spring there is neither stream nor path; save here and there a slight trace, often tor- tuous, which tells of the passage of wild animals wandering toandfro. The hunters are pleased to see it thus; still more when the: Mexican, noting some hoof-marks in a spot of soft ground, pro- nounces them tracks of the carnero cimmaron, “I thought we'd find some of the big-horn gentry up here,” hesays; ‘and if all the caravan don’t this day dine on roast mutton, it’ll be because Pedro Vicente isn’t the proper man to be its purveyor. Still, we mustn’t stop to go after the sheep now. True, we've begun the day hunting, but before pro- ceeding further with that, we must make sure we sha'n’t have to end it fighting. ‘Ssh! rstand my anxiety to | | | The sibilatory exclamation has reference to ® noise heard a little way off, like the stroke of a hoof upon hard turf, several times Peer repeated. And multaneous with it another sound, as the snort or bark of some animal, “That's a carnero, now!” says the Mexican, sotto voce ; as he speaks; coming to a stop and laying hold of the other’s arm to restrain him, ‘Since the game offers itself without going after, or out of our way, We May as well secure a head or two. Like the turkeys, it can’t be maipgp 7 up till our return.” Of course his compagnon de chasse is of the.same mind. He but longs to empty his double-barrel again, all the more at such grand game, and rejoins, | saying: ’ * Just so; it can.” Without further speech they stalk cautiously for- ward, to reach the edge of another opening, and there behold another flock—not of A tg but quad- rupeds. Deer they might seem at the first glance. to eyes unacqu with them; and for sucl) Harry Tresillian might mistake them, but that they show no antlers, Instead horns, of a charac- ter proclaiming them sheep: Sheep they are, wild ones, different from the do- mesticated animal as grayhound from dacshund. No short legs nor low bodies theirs; no bushy tails, nor tangle of wool to ineumber them. .. Instead, coats clean and smooth, with limbs lung, sinewy, and supple as those of stag itself. Several pairs of horus are visible in the flock,one pair spirally curving much larger than any of the others; indeed, of such dimensions, and seeming weight, as to make it a wonder how the old ram, their owner, can hold up his head. Yet is it he who is holding head ghest; the same who had snorted, hammering the ground with his hoof. He has done so repeatedly since; the last time to be the last in his life. Through the leafy brauches, cautiously parted, shoots out a double jet of flame and smoke; three cracks are heard, then again there is dead game on the ground. This time, however, counting less,in heads; only one—that carrying the grand curvature of horns. Alone the leader of the flock has falleu to the second fusilade, killed by the rifle’s bullet.. For the shot from the double-barrel, though hitting too, has glanced off the thick felt-like. coats of the curneros as from a corslet of steel. “ Oarrai!/” exclaims the gamPusino, with a vexed air, as they step up to the fallen quarry. ‘ This time we haven't done so well—in fact, worse than nothing.”’ “But why?” queries the youn wonder at the other's strange wor having made such a big kill. “Why you ask, sefiorito! Don’t your nostrils tel! you? diailos / how the brute ks!"’ Truth he speaks, as his bunting companion, new standing over the dead body of the big-horn, can well reeive—sensible of an offensive odor arising from t as that of ram in the rutting season, “What a fool I’ve been tu spend buljet upon him,’” continues the Mexican, without awaiting rejoinder. “Nor was it his great bulk.or horns that tempted me. No, all through thinking of that other thing, which made me careless which of them I aimed at,” * What other thing?” “The smoke, Well, it’s mo use ie ae pilt milk, nor any to bother more about the brute, It’s only fit food for coyotes; and the sooner they get it a +7 bellies the better. Faugh! Let us away rom it.’ Englishman, in and way, after CHAPTER VI. A HOMERIC REPAST. EarR.y as are the white men astir, yet earlier are the red ones. For the Coyoteros, like the animal from which they derive their tribal name, do more of their prowling by night than by day, oreever, it is the sultry season, and they design reaching Nauchampa-tepetl, before the sun gets so high anc hot as to make traveling uncomfortable. Even sav- ages are not averse to comfor'; though these are now thinking more about that ef their, herses than their own, . They are on an expedirion that will need keeping the animals up to their best strength; and journeying in the noon hours, would distress and pull them down, : q So, nearly an. hour before dawn. declares itself, they are up and active, moving about. in the dim light, silent as specters. Sileat,not from any fear of betraying their presence, to an, enemy—they know of none likely to be near—but. because, it is their habit. What they first do is to shift the picket-pins of their horses, or give greater length to the trail-ropes, in order that the animals may get a bite of clean fresh gran, that on whieh they were tethered throughout the night being now trampled down. Next, they proceed to e care of themselves—to fortifying the inner man with a bit of breakfast. No fire is needed for the cooking ityand none is kin- dled. The mezcal and, horse-meat. pie has been baking all the night; and, now, near morning, they know it will be ready—donetoa tum. It but needs the turf lifted off, their primitive oven, and the con- tents extracted. “Five or six, detailed for the task, at once set about it; first taking off the top, sods, now calcined and still smoking. Then the loose moli, which the fire has cony into nahn fe ranean with more care. It is hot, and.needs ling gingerly; but the savage cuisiniers know, how; and soon the black bundle is exposed.to view, the hide now hairless and rred, but moist and reeking. It still adheres sufficiently to bear hoisting out, without fear of spilling the contents; and at length it is so lifted and carried to a clean spot of sward, Thencut open
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and spread out, there is displayed a steaming savory mass, whose Sppetizing odor, borne upward and out- ward on the fresh morning air, inspires every red- skin around with delightful anticipations. And not without reason, either. To say nothin of the baked horseflesh—by many gourmets esteem a delectable dish—the corm of the mezcal, treated thus, is a viand palatable as peculiar. And peculiar itis, bearing resemblance to nothing I either know or can think of, In appearance it is much like can- died citron; with a sweetish taste, too, only firmer and darker in color, But while eating it the tongue seems penetrated with a thousand tiny darts; a sort of prickly sensation, quite indescribable, and to one unaccustomed to {t not altogether agreeable: In time this passes away; and he who has made the experiment of eating mezcal comes to like it exceed- ingly. Many grand people among the whites regard it in the light of a luxury; and as such it has found its way into most Mexican towns—even the capital itself—where it commands a high price. With the Apache Indians, as aiready said, it is a staple food; even giving their tribal name to one branch of this numerous nation—the Mezcaleros. But all eat of it alike, and the Coyoteros, en Livouae, show by their knowledge of how to prepare it that baked mezcal is no ways new to them. At the word “ Ready ” they gather around the hot steaming mass; and, ess of scorched lips or tongues, set upon it with knife and tooth. Soon the skin is cleaned out, every scrap of its contents eaten. They could eat the hide, too; and would, were there a pinch, But there is none such now, and it is left for their namesakes, the coyotes. A smoke follows the Homeric repast; for all American Indians are addicted to the use of the nicotian weed. They were so before the caravels of Columbus spread sail on the Haytian seas, . Every Coyotero in camp has his pipe and pouch of tobacco, be it genuine or adulterated; this dé- temo on how their luck has been running, or how rece heir latest raid upon some settlement of the pale-faces. , Pipes smoked out and returned to their places of deposit all are afoot again. Nothing more now but to draw picket-pins, coil up trail-ropes, mount and move . For their horse caparison, scant and easily adjusted, is already on. Ee Sat ty eae phe serge Pe ae 3 wo! éxample—springing upon the back o hisown. Then they ride off, as before, in formation *“by twos,” each file falling into rank as the line lengthens out upon the’plain: arce is thé last file clear of the abandoned camp-ground ere this becomes occupied by ani- mated beings of another kind—wolvyes, whose howl- ing has been heard throughout all the night. Hav- ing scented the slaughtered horse, these now rush simultaneously toward it, to dispute the banquet of bones, - Shortly after leaving camp the marching red- skins lose sight of the cerro, isis accounted for by a dip in the plain, with a ridge-like swell beyond, which runs transversely to their course, The hol- low continues for several miles before the mountain will be ns pee in view; but, well knowing the way, they need not this to guide them. Nor are they in any particular hurry, They can reach their intend- ed halting-place by the lake long ere the sun be- comes sultry; there to lie up till the cool hours of evening. So they move leisurely along, and with a pu e—to spare the sinews of their horses. They talk enough now, loudly and Jaughingly. They have slept well, and breaktasted satisfactorily; besides, it is broad daylight, and no danger to be ap- prenen ed, no fear of hostile surprise, For all that hey keep their eyes on the alert through habitude, every now and then scanning the horizon around. Soon they see that which gives them something serious to speak about. Not upon the horizon, nor anywhere on the plain, but up n the heavens above it—birds. What of them? And what in their ap- pearance to attract the attention of the Coyoteros? othing, or not much, were the birds other than they are. But they are vultures, black vultures of two sorts—qallinazos and zopilotes, Nor would the Indians think of Lipton Pope &second glance were they soaring about in ir ordinary way, wheeling in circles and mt Ngee But they are not; instead, passing overhead in straight onward flight, with a quick, earnest plying of wings, evidently making for — int where they t to stoop upon car- on. jong stream, but all flying in one same in which the savages are themselves proceed- mR award Nauchampa-tepetl. t can be drawing the vultures thither? This the question which the Indians ask one another, in | their own formularies of speech; none able to an- | swer it, Save by conjecture. Without in an pom sbiinss in Spectacle gxcites them; an uick eager earn what is attractin 1¢ birds, It should be something more than d way antelope or deer; so many are tending toward it | and from so far. For their h flight, straight on- ward, tells of their having heat ha cack tithe keep- nee same course, tening on up the slope of the swell, the dusky horsemen once more Catch sight of the mountain, there to see what brings them to an abrupt halt—a filmy, purplish haze hanging over its southern end, more scattered higher up inthe sky. Is it fog ris- ing from the water they know to be there? No; smoke, as their practiced eyes tell them after re- parding ita moment. And, with like celerity they terpret it, as proceeding from the fire or fires of a camp. Other velers, antici cam by Nauchampa-tepetl. Whot Opatas? Nat | likely. Sons of toil—Jndicos res there are of them, straggled out in a | irection—the | the | 4 | longer obstructed. North, east and west the /lano The Gold-seeker Guide. 5 eir whine the patches of cultivation arou them. Impro into that wilderness so likely it is a party of pale-faces; men in search of that shining metal which as the Apaches know, has often lured their white enemies into the very heart of the desert, their own domain, and to destruction —themselves the destroyers. If the smoke of those camp-fires they now see be over such a party, then is it doomed—at least so mentally resolve the red centaurs, hoping it may be thus. While still gazing at the blue cloud, taking its measure, and discussing the probabilitics of who and what sort of men may be under it, another ap- pears before their eyes; this whiter and of smaller size—a mere puff suddenly rising over the crest of the mesa, and separating from it as it drifts higher. From the fire of oRa0 or guns, as the Coyoteros can tell, though not by any crack of one havin reached their ears, since none has. In the rarefi atmosphere of the high-lying dlanos the eye has the advantage of the ear, sounds being heard only at short distance. They are still more than ten miles from the mountain, and the report of a cannon, dis- chaseee onits summit, would be barely audible to them. still staying at halt, but Let 9 J to their horses, the chief and others in authority enter into consulta- tion. And while they are deliberating on the best course to be pursued, still another puff of smoke shoots up over the mesa, similar to that preceding, but at a different point. It aids them in coming to conclusions; for now ber are sure there is a ai of pale-faces by the pond; and they above are hunt- ers who have Tg up to get game, which the In- dians know to be there in abundance. But what sort of pale-faces? Of this they are not sure. Knowing it to be a miners’ sae they would ride straight on forit,in gallop. But it may be an encampment of soldados, which would make a dif- ference, Not that the Goyoteros are afraid to en- counter Mexican soldiers—farfromit. Rather would they rejoice at wy, tm these. For their tribe, thelr own branch of it, has an old scoré against the men in uniform; and nothing would please them better than an opportunity to settle it. Indeed, partly to seek this, with purposes of plunder com- bined, are they now onthe war trail. Only in their mode of action would there be a difference,in the event of the encampment turning out to be occu- pied by solados. Soldiers in that quarter should be cavalry,and to approach them caution would be called for, with strategy. But these red centaurs are soldiers themselves—veterans, skilled, cunning strategists—and now give proof of it. For the time has come for them to advance; which they do, not straight forward nor in a single body, but broken into two bands, one facing right, the other left, with a design to enfilade the camp by approaching it from Cppceite points, Separat at the start, the two cohorts soon diverge wide apart; both making for the mountain, but with the intention to reach its southern end on erent sides. If the black vultures, stillin streaming flight above, have hopes of ine & repast there, they may now feel assured of its being a plenteous one. CHAPTER VIL. Los INDIOS! Partina from the despised carcass of the ram the hunters press onward, the younger with mental re- solve to return to it, come back what way they will. Its grand yp horns have caught his fancy; such a r would grace any hall in Christendom; and, hough he cannot call the trophy his own, since it fell not to his gun, he intends appropriating it. Only fora brief moment does the young English- man reflect about them; in the next they are out of his mind. For, g! at the Mexican's face, he again sees that look of anxious uneasiness noted be- fore. It had returned soon as the exciting incident of the sheep-shooting was over. And knowing the cause he shares it, no more thinking about the chase or its trophies. They say but little now; having sufficient work to occupy them without wasting time in words. For beyond the opening where the carnéros were en- | countered, they find no path—not so much as a | trace made by animals--and have to make one for themselves. As the trees stand close, with UWianas interlacing, the Mexican is often compelled touse his machete for hewing out a passageway; which he does with an accompaniment of carrambas, thick as the underwood he chops at. Thus smapoded, they are nearly an hour in getting through the chaparral, though jthe distance pas is less than the fof a mile. accomplish it, arriving on the mesa's outer edge, close to that of the c There the tall timber ends in a skirting of low bushes, and their view is no But at length they is under their eyes to the horizon’s verge, twenty miles at least being within the scope of their vision. They aim not toscanitsofar. For ata distance of little more than ten they observe that which at once fixes their glance; a dun-yellowish disk—a cloud—with its base resting upon the plain. “Smoke, no—but dust!” exclaims the gambusino, | soon as sighting it; ‘and kicked up by the heels of | horses—hundreds of them. There can be nothing else out there to Cause that. Horses, with men on their backs. If a caballada of wild mustangs the dust would show more scattered. Indios, por cierto / ‘arra-i |” he says, in continuation, the shade on his brow sensibly darkening, as with o quick glance them, are en- wee ee der he sees real smoke in that direc- ; tion. “What fools we've been to kindle fires! Rank madness. Better to have eaten breakfast raw. I myself most to blame of any; I should have known the danger. By this ven AS have spied our camp smoke—that of our shots, Ah, muchucho ! we've been foolish in every way.” Almost breathless from this burst of regret and self-recrimination, he is for a while silent; his heart beating audibly, however, as with gaze fixed on the far-off cloud he endeavors to interpret it. But the dark cloud soon becomes less dense, partially dis- persed, and under it appears something more solid; a clump of somber hue, but with here and there svarkling points. No separate forms can as yet be made out; only a mass; but, for all that, the gam- dusino knows it to be composed of horses and men, the coruscations being the glint of arms and ac- couterments, as the sun penetrates through to them. “What a pity!’ he exclaims, resuming ech; *‘I didn’t think of asking Don Estevan for the loan of his telescope. If we only had it here now. But I can see enough without it; ‘tis as I feared. No more hunting for us to-day; but fight- ing ere the sun goes down—perhaps ere it reach meridian. Mira/ the thing's splitting into two. You Bee, sé/iorito ?”" The seiorite does see that the dust-cloud has parted in twain, as also the dark mass underneath. And now they can distinguish separate forms; horses with men on their backs, and a more con- spicuous glittering of arms, because of their being in motion. “Ah, yes!" adds the Mexican, with increased gravity of tone, * Indios bruros they are; hundreds of them. If Apaches, as sure they must, Heaven help usall! I know what they mean by that move- ment. They've sighted the camp smoke, and intend coming on along both sides of the ceryo. That’s why they’ve broken into two bands. Back to camp, as fast as our legs can carry us! We've not a minute— not a second to lose. Vamos!” And back for camp they start, not to spend time onthe way, as when coming from it; but in a run, andrush along the path already opened—past the dead sheep, past the spring and the strung-up tur- keys, without even staying to look at these, much less think of taking them along. The occupants of the miners’ camp, men, women and children are up and active now. Some are at work about the wagons, pouring water over their wheels to tighten the tires, loose from the shrinking of the wood; others have set to mending harness and pack-saddles; while still others out on the open plain are changing the avimals to fresh a of pasturage. A small party is seen around the carcass of a bullock, in the act of skinning it to get beefsteaks for breakfast. Several fires have been kindled, for the people are many, and have separate messes according to rank and vocation. Around these are the women and grown girls, some bending over red earthenware pots that contain choc and coffee, others on their knees with the me‘afe stone in front, and met- lapilla in hand, crushing the boiled maize into paste for the al tortillas, The children play by the lake’s edge. ve eerie ankle-deep into the water, lashing about like little ducks; some of the bigger ys,who have improvised a rude tackle, endeavoring to catch fish. In this remote tarn there are such, as it has an affluent stream connecting it with the Rio Horcasitas—now nearly dry, but at times having a volume of water sufficient for the finny tribes to as- cend to the lake, into which several species have found their way. ; Within the space inclosed by the wagon—the cor- ral—three tents have been erected, aid stand in a row. The middle one is a large square marquec, the two flanking it of the ordinary beli-shape. The marquee is occupied by the senior partner and his sefiora; the one on their right by their daughter and an Indian moza—her waiting-maid; tle t_ird affords shelter and sleeping quarters tor tue two jans, All three are for the time empty; their oceupants paving stepped out of them. As known, Henry Ky ian has gone up to the summit of the cerro, and his father is moving about the camp in the ———, of the mayor-domo, with an eye to superintendence of everything; while Don Estevan, Mis wife and daughter have strolled out along the lake’s edge to enjoy the refreshing breeze wafted over its water. The three promenaders have but made one turn along the sandy shore, and back again, when the hear a cry which not only alarms them, but within and around the camp— ** Los Indics!" It has been sent from above—from the head of the ravine; and everybody looks up—all eyes raised simultaneously. To see two men tor ime 1 on a pro- jected point of rock, their figures sharply outlined — the blue background of sky; at the samé time to recognize them as the gamivsino and Henry Tresillian. Only for an instant are these at a stand; only to shout down those terrible words of warning; then both bound into the gorge, and come on at a rush, with risk of breaking their necks. At its bottom they are met by an excited, clamor- ous crowd; surrounded and assailed by a very tempest of interrogations. But to these they vouchsafe no answer beyond that implied in their shout; instead, — on to where Don Estevan and the elder » now together, stand awaitin; them. The senior partner is the first to speak, rr, 3 dressing himself to Vicente: ** You've seen Indians, Don Pedro? Where?” *Out upon the Yano, your worship—to north-east- ward.” “You're sure of it Indians?” ** Quite sure, sefior. @ were able to make out horses with men on them; the men unlike any with a white skin, but just as those with a red one.
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6 Beans worship can take my word for their being In- ians,”’ “Tecan, anddo, But from what you gay, it seems iy» Si still a good way off. How far, tuink your’ “Ten. miles or more, when we came away from the place where we saw them. They can’t be much nearer yet, as we've not been over ten minutes on the way." The qick time made by the hunters in return is attested by their breathing: both with nostrils agape and breasts heaving up and down as runners at the close of a hard-contested race. “Tis well they’re at such a distance," rejoins Don Estevan, “ And lucky your having sighted them be- fore they got nearer.’ ‘“*Ah! sefior, they'll soon be near; for I know they've sighted us—at least the smote of our camp and are already making for it. Light horsemen as they don’t need long to traverse ten miles—on a ‘ plain like this.” ‘That's true,” assents the ci-devant soldier, with an air of troubled impatience. ‘‘ What do you ad- vise our doing, Don Pedroy’ “Well, for one thing, your worship, we mustn't remain here. We must clear eut of this camp, and soon ag possible. In an bour—ay, less—it may be too late.' “Your words want explaining, Don Pedro. I don't comprehend them. Clear out of the camp! But whither are we to go" “ Arriba!" answers the guide, pointing te the gorge. ‘‘Up yonder,” “ But we can’t take the animals there. And te ony up ort goods there wouldn't be time." “Tl know it, your worship. And glad we may be to get ourselves safe'up." “Then we're to abandon allf Is that what you advise ?"’ “Ig is, sefior. I'm serry I can give no better ad- vice. There's no alternative if we wish to live.” “To lose everything,” puts in the junior pero ~fpeety animals, machinery, That would be a ter- rible calamity. Surely, Sefor Vicente, we can de- fend the camp; our people are all well armed." *‘Impossible, Don Roberto; impossible, were they everso well armed. From whatI could make out of the Indian party it numbers hundreds to our tens, sufficient to surround us ov every side. And even if we could keep them off during daylight, at night they'd crawl close enough to set the camp on fire Wagons, tilts, every stick and stitch of them are dry as tinder; the very pack-saddles would be ablaze with the first spark that fell on them.” ** But how know we that these Indians are hostile? Ames all, it may be some friendly band; perhaps patas|"’ “No!” exclaims the gamusino, impatiently. ‘I saw enough to know they're not Opatas, nor mansos of any kind; enough to sure they're Uravos, and almost sure, Apaches.”’ ** Apaches!" echo several voices in the surround- ing, in tones proclaiming the dread with which this name inspires the heart of every Sonorefio. Every man present feels a creeping sensation in the skin of his head, as though the scalping-knife were being brandished around it. “They're coming from the direction where Apaches would come,"’ pursues Vicente. ‘' Besides, they have no baggage; not a wosnan or child to be seen with them. All men, mounted and armed.” “Indeed, it it be so,”’ rejoins Don Estevan, with brow now darkly shadowed, ‘‘we can expect mo friendship from them.” “No mercy, either!’ adds the gold-seeker. ‘ Nor have we a right to expect i 78 ter the treatment they've had at the hands of Captain Gil Perez and liis men.” All know to what Vicente alludes; a massacre of Apache Indians by a party of Mexican soldiers, after being lured and Julled into false security by profgs- sions of peace—cold-blooded and cruel as any re- corded in the annals of frontier warfare. “I’ve said it. I’m good as sure they're Apaches," repeats the gam/usino, more imp: vely. “‘Andit would be madness, sheer insanity, to await them here. We must ap to the mesa.” “ But will we be safe there?’’ : “Asina citadel. No fortress ever contrived, or made by hand of man, is strong as the Cerro Fer- dido, Twenty men could hold it against es many hundreds—ay, thousands. Carram'a/ We may thank the Virgin for proveding us with such @ se- cure retreat; so handy, and j time.” “Then let us toit,” assents Don Estevan, after a brief consultatiou with his partner, who no longer spposee the step, though by it they may lose their 1, We'll follow your advice, Seior Vicente; and you have our authority to order everything as it seems best to you.” ‘‘T’ve only one order to give your worships; that’s arriba! Up all and everybody!" CHAPTER VUI. TENDER LEAVE-TAKINGS, Tus excitement in the CAD, already at full hight. now changes to a quick, confused hurrying to and fro, accompanied by cries of many kinds. Here and there is heard the terrified scream of a woman, who, babe in arms, fancies the spear of a sava = at her breast, to impale herself and off- spring. There is a rush for the gorge, up which a stream of human forms is soon seen swarming as ants up their hill. And, with a gallantry which distinguishes the miner as the mariner, the women and children are permitted foremost place in the upward retreat, assisted by husbands, Without serious accident all succeed in reaching the summit, where the women are left, the men ust in the nick of The Gold-seeker Guide. who went with them hurrying back below. It is hard to part with valuable property and cherished household gods—still harder to see these appropri- ated by a hated enemy—and an effort is to be made for saving what can saved, At first they only thought of their lives; but half a dozen men, who had sprung to their horses at the earliest moment of alarm, and galloped out beyond the mountain’s flank to get better view, signal back that the Indians are not yetin sight. So there is still a chance to take up a portion of the camp equipage, with such goods as are likely to be most needed, in the event of their having to sustain a siege, “The ammunition and provender first!’’ shouts Vicente, back again at camp, wiih full authority of direction. ‘Take up everything that’s food for man and loading for gun. After that whatever we'll have time for.” Knowing their women now safe, the men work with spirit; and soon a different sort of stream is seen ascending the gorge; a string of burden-bearers, continuous from plain to summit; hastily returning down again, relieved of their loads, to take up others. Never were bees so busy. Some remain below, get- ting the goods out of the wagons, and making pack- es of them convenient for the difficult transport. The bales and boxes—lading of the pack-mules—are broken open, and their more valuable effects picked out and carried off; se that ia a short spaee of time not much remains save the mining tools and ma- ehinery, with the heavier articles ef house furni- ture. Could the Rattlesnake have known of this quick PEmcaettonars sacking ef the camp by its owners, 6 and his would have approached it in greater haste. But they are seen coming on now. The mounted vedettes have at length signaled them in sight, they themselves galloping in at the same time, and dropping down from their horses. There is a last gathering up ef bundles, which in- cludes the two smaller tents—the marquee left standing. Then the final dvbendude; all turning face toward the gorge, and toiling up it. No, not all as yet; more than one lingers below. For the horses must needs be left behind; impos- sible to take them up a steep where only goat, sheep, or clawed creature might go. And more than one hasa master who parts with it reluctantly. Re- retfully, too, at thought of ita changing owner, and fo.such owner as will soon enter upon possession. Even some of the teamsters and muleteers have an affection for their mules, the head ay tee regarding the whole a@édjo as his children, and the ‘* bell-mare almost asa motber, Many a long mile and league has he listened to her guiding bell; ‘itscbeerful tinkle a gyre the route clear along narrow dizzy edge, or through deep defile. And now he will hear its music no more. But the ties must be severed, the parting take lace. Which it does, amid phrases and ejacula- ions of leave-taking, tender as though the left ones were human beings instead of dumb brutes, “ Ca- ballo — caballito querido!l”’ ‘*Mula-mulita mia!" ‘*Pobre-pobrecita! Dios te guarda!’’ And mingled with these are exclamations of a less gentle kind— anathemas, hurled at the red-skins coming on to take possession of their pets. At this last Pedro Vicente is among the loudest. As yet he has had oalg pepeyment for his late discovered mine, the remaining moiety dependent on the working it. And now the crash—all the mining apparatus to be destroyed—perhaps the pur- chasing firm made. bankrupt, if. even Ife be left them. Thinking of all this, and what he has already suffered at the hands of * Los Indios,”’ no wonder at his cursing them. He, however, is not one of those taking affectionate and sentimental farewell of their animals. His horse is a late purchase, and though of fine appearance, has proved aught but a bargain. For there are.‘‘copers™ in Arispe, as elsewhere, and the pomiisine has been their victim. Hence he parts with the ay pee steed neither with regret nor reluctance. But not with the saddle and bridle; these of elaborate adornment having cost him far more than the horse. So shouldering them, he too reascends, last of all save one. That one is Henry Tresillian; and very different is the parting between him and the animal of his belonging. The English youth almost sheds tears as he stands by his horse's head, patting his neck and stroking his muzzle, the last time he may ever y hand on either. Nay, surely, too surely, the last, And the noble creature seems to know it, too, responding to the caress by a low mournful whim- pering. Ah! ~~! beautiful Crusader! to think I must leave you behind! And to be ridden by a red-skin —a cruel savage who willtake no care of you. Oh, itis hard—hard!”’ Crusader appears to comprehend what is said, for his answer is something like a moan. It may be spamner’s face—that master who has been so kind to m. ‘A last farewell, brave fellow! Be it a kiss!" says the youth, bringing his lips in contact with those of the horse, Then pulling off the headstall with its attached trail-rope, and letting them drop to the ground, he again speaks his sad word ‘‘ farewell,” and, turning back on his beloved steed, walks hur- riedly and determinedly away, as though fearing resolution might fail him. Soon he commences climbing up the gorge; all the others who have gone before now nearly out of it. But ere he has ascended ten steps he hears that behind which causes him to stop and look back. Not in alarm; he knows it.to be the neigh of his own horse, accom uick repetition—Crusader coming on in @ gallop or the gorge. In another instant he is by its bot- | | tom, on hind legs, rearing up against the rocky steep, as if determined to scale it. In vain; after an effort he drops back on all fours. But to rear up and try agdin, and again, all the while giving utterance to wild, agonized neighs— very screams, To ae! Tresillian the sight is saddening, the sound torture, stirring his heart to. its deepest depths. To escape the seeing—though he cannot so soon the hearing—he once more turns his back upon the horse, and hastens on upward. But when half-way to the head he cannot resist.taking an- other downward look. Which shows him Crusader yet by the bottom of the gorge, but now standing still on all fours, as if resigned to the inevitable. Not silent, however; instead, at short intervals, iving utterance to that neigh of melancholy ca- enee, alike proclaiming discomfiture and despair. CHAPTER IX. “rr's THE RATILESNAKE.” On again reaching the summit Henry Tresillian finds his father there with Don Estevan and most of the men. These last, under the direction of tue cé- devant soldier, are collecting large stones, and lay- ing hem all round the head of the gorge. ne might faucy them building a breastwork, but nothing of that kind is sheir intention, none such be ing needed. As Vicente had said, it is a fortress of nature's construction, stronger than any ever built by the hand of man, and would defy breaching by alt the artillery in the world. Ammunition is what the stones are being evllected for, to be rolled down the slope in case the enemy should attempt scaling it. Most of them have to be brought up out of the gorge itself, as but few lie loose on the summit... A work that, with so many and willing hands, takes up but short time, and soon a ridge ay. ; in horse- shoe shape around the spot where path leads out upon the level. Others of the men have géne en to the glade by the spring, where the women and children are now assembled, the effects brought up from below lying scattered about them. Some, still in effright, are moving excitedly to and fro; others, with greater courage or calmness, have taken seats onthe boxes and bundles, The sefiora and her daughter, with the family ser- vants, form a group apart, the eyes of Gertude scanning with anxious, interrogative glance each new A it ae ears on the eof the opening. She has been told that Henrique is still upon the plain, and fears he may there linger too long. As yet no move has n made to set up the tenfs, or otherwise establish camp. There are some who cling.to the hope that after all it may not be neces- sary. The Indians have not yet shown themselves at the southern end, and not is known of their character save by conjecture. that is based on but a distant view of them, it is little reliable; and the guide is directed by Don Estevan to hasten north ain, and see what can be seen further, his time he takes the telescope with him, and signals are arranged before starting, Gun signals, of course: a single shot, to say the Indians are still advancing toward the cerro; two, that they are near; a third. denoting their character made out; while_a fourth will proclaim them braves, and of some hostile tribe. By this it might appear as if the gambvsiro bore upon his oun a Mak Baap 30 of small arms; while in reality he has only his rifle, with a pair of single- barreled pistols of ancient fashion and doubtful fire. But, as before, he is to be accompanied by Henry Tresillian, whose double gun will ape ge any oad in the signal shot&—should four be needed. This settled, off the two go again on their old track, first passing through the glade by the 00 /« agua. There the English youth tarries a moment- only a brief one—to exchange a word with the sefiora, and a tender glance with Gertrude, whose eyes follow him no longer in fear, but now all ad- miration, She has been told of the strazge parting between him and his favorite steed—her favorite as well—and the fearlessness he displayed, staying down upon the plain after all the others had lett it. “Such courage!’ she mentally exclaims, as she sees hirn dash on after the guide. ** Dios mio! he | dare do anything.” | ) | that he interprets the melancholy expression on his | | at a run, in less than fifteen minutes’ time the vedettes arrive at their former plac of ob- servation on the projecting point of the cliff; and without delay Vicente lengthens out the telescope, raising it to his eye. To see, at first view, what justifies their sounding the first and second signals: the savages still coming on for the cerro, and now near! “Fire off both your barrels!’ he directs on the in- stant; and, without lowering the glass, “‘ Allow & little time between, that our people mayn’t mistake it for a single shot.” The English youth, elevating the muzzle of his n, presses the front trigger, and then, after an in- peal the back one, and the shots in succession go reverberating along the cliff in echo upon echo. . Scarce have these died away when the Mexican ain speaks, thistime not only to Bay the other two signals are to be given, but with words and in tone telling of even more, ‘* Carramta!”’ he cries out, “just as expected, and worse! Apaches, and the cruelest, most hostile of all, Coyoteros/ Quick, muchacho |" he continues, still keeping the telescope to his eye, “ pull the pistols out of my belt off both." Again two loud aaekh, time between, resound a Proceedi ng e with a few seconds of ong the cliff, while the ied by the stroke of his hoofs in | dusky horsemen, now near enough for their indi- vidual forms to be distinguishable by the naked eye, are seen to have come to a halt, seated on their
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horses and gazing upward. But through the glass Vicente sees more, which still further excites him. “Por todos demonios esta El Oascalel/" (By all tke devils it’s the Rattlesnake!) “El Cascabel!’’ echoes the English youth, less puzzled by the odd name than surprised at the man- ner of him who has pronounced it. “Who is he, Bon Pedro?” “Ah, senorito! You'll find that out too soon—all ef us, I fear, to ourcost. Yes! he goes on talking with the telescope still upheld, “tis El Cascabel. I ean make out the Death’s head on his breast, origi- nal pattern of tha; on my own. He and his made the copy, the brutes burning it into my flesh in sheer wanten mockery. MMalraya! we're infor it now; a siege till the crack of doom, or till all ef us are starved dead. No hope of Ser | ft.’ atl and weaker—theirs, alas!—it must be re- sistance and defense even unto death, te fully convinced of this, the miners remain calm, with that confidence due to danger seeming The Gold-seeker Guide. unassailable, the gambusino ving | ca them as- surance of it, But they now see it for themselves, and any apprehensions they have are less for the resent than the future. Sure are they that a'sie is before them, how long they cannot guess; nor which way it will terminate. And there may chances of relief or escape oer have not thought of. Hopeis hard to kill, and the\least hopeful of | them has not yet yielded to despair, Time enough for that when starvation stares them in the face, tor hunger—famine, is the foe they have most to fear. But they think not of things go far ahead. They must first see the enemy of which their guide has given such awe-inspiring account; and, with glances sent abroad and over that portion of the rae visi- ble to them, they await bis appearance on it, Nearly another hour elapses without an. enemy seen. The horses and mules have got over theirlate excitement, and are again tranquilly depasturing, some having waded into the lake to cool their hoofs, still hot after their long jorn/a. But none wander away from the ats a of. the camp; the only ani- mals out on the plain being prong-horn antelopes, a herd of which, on their way to the water, too, has been deterred approaching it by the presence of huge monstersunknown to them—the wagons. But these have not hindered the approach of the black- winged birds, instead, attracted them, and a large flock is now around the abandoned camp, some wheeling above, others at rest on the ground, or perched upon the rock-bowlders which besttew it. A crowd, collected on the spot where the ox had fart a gone: for breakfast, contest possession of ts offal. Allof a sudden, and simultaneously, a movement is perceptible among the animals, birds as quadru- peds, the wild as the tame. The prong-horns, with a snort, raise their heads aloft as if they saw or scented some new danger, then lope off at lightning speed. The vultures take wing, but only rise a little way into the air, to soar around in cireles; while the horses, mules, and horned cattle, as if seized by a frenzy of madness, rush excitedly about, wildly neighing and bellowing, at each instant threatening to break away in St eae “They smell red-skin,” knowingly observes the gambis:n4, who is among the rest watching their movements. ‘‘Yes; and we'll soon see the ugly thingitself. Ohingara! yonder it is.” He has no need to point out either the thing or the place. The eyes of all are now onit; the head of a dusky cohort just appearing round the eastern pro- ection of the cerro, becoming elongated as file after le unfolds itself. ey are still afar off—at least a league—nor is theirline of march directed toward the mountain, but westward, as though they in- tended turning it. No such maneuver is meant, however, as the min- ers, forewarned by their guide, are already aware. His words are made good by their seeing soon after another dark line developing itself on the Wana, at like distance off, but co: from the opposite di- rection, ° “The party that went west about,"’ says the gam- busino, half in soliloquy; “‘ cunning in them to make a complete surround of us. I suppose they thought we were but horsemen, and might get — from them. If they’d seen our wagons, it would have saved them some trouble. Well; they see every- thing now.”’ No one makes rejoinder, all intently gazing at the two marching bands, now with eyes on one, then quickly transferred to the other, The portion of the plain visible is sextant-shaped—the view on either side cut off by the flanking ridges of the ravine—and from each side the string of savage horsemen is con- tinuously lengthening out. Not rapidly, but in slow leisurely crawl, as if confident they had already secu the enfiladement of the camp. With a thicker concentration near the head of each, and a metallic sparkle all along their line—the sheen of their armor under the rays of the meridian sun— they a as two huge serpents of antediluvian age, deliberately drawing toward one another either for friendship or combat. In due time their front files come together, near the central part of the sextant, though the rear ones are still invisible; how many of these no one knows, save approximately. Enough, however, are al- ready in sight to make a formidable array, and put all thought of conflict with them out of the question. The miners but congratulate themselves on their fortune in finding that secure place of retreat, which will enable them to shun it. Grateful are they to their guide for making it known—and they have reason. If within their late camp instead of where they now are, the hours of their life would be num- bered—perhaps to count only minutes. At the best they could but save bare life for a time, but nothing to comfort or sustain it. All this they have come to comprehend thor- oughly as they continue to watch the movements of the wa Bf og and see the cordon these have drawn around them. But for some minutes there is no movement at all, the bands after uniting having come to a halt, the files making quarter-wheel, so as to face the cerro—all done as by trained cavalry on a parade-ground! And for awhile they stay halted the change of front giving their alignment a thinner look. But at the central point is a thicker clump, without military formation, on which Don Estevan directs his telescope. To see half a dozen of the mounted sava face to face with one another, earnestly, excitedly gesticulating. After a look through it, he tenders the glass to the gambusino, who may better understand what they are about, ‘* El Cascabel and bis sub-chiefs in consultation,” pronounces the latter as soon as: sighting them. | “Jt’s plain they're puzzled by seeing wagons where still distant. They know they are safe for the time, ge n be | SS ee 7 never were such before. Like as not they think we're sold @/os, and that makes them cautioas, But they'll soon know different. Per dios | they knew it now. They’re coming on!” CHAPTER XI. A CAMP WITHOUT OCCUPANTS, Tae gambusino has guessed everything aright, if words spoken in the confidence of knowledge ean called guesses. True they prové, to the spirit as the letter; for itis just that unacerstomed spectaele ef wheeled vebicles with their white canvascovers caused the Indians tw keep their penning Ae 80 far aloof, and bring it to a halt for deliberation. Notwithstanding their being .masters of all that desert country, lords of the Manos, they themselves do not always traverse it without cifficulties to em counter and dangers to dread. The wagons pro- claim the camp occupied by white men; and know- ing these to be ordinary travelers, miners on the move, or commer: iantes on a trading expedition to the fronticr towns, the Coyoteros would little negard them—certainly not enough to have made that long dctour, with so much delay, in approaching them, But it may be a niiiery encampment; and if B80, will need to be dealt with differently—hence their unwonted caution. . Soon as the two bands became conjoined, FE) Cas- cabel had summoned his sub-chiefs around him to take their opinions upop this point. For among In- dians the head chief is not armed with despotic au- thority, but must submit his intended course of ac- tion to the approval of his following, even when om the marwud. And as the gam/us'no rightly eonjeo tured, this it was which occupied them at that ven- porary halt. A question without difficulty, and soon decided, In the negative as regarded the camp being occu by soldiers. Were it so,men in uniform would be observable around it; whereas none such are seen. Nor human form of — kind; only animals—horses, and mules, with horned cattle commingled—all ea- ering madly about as if masterless, er escaped from their masters’ control. This might seem an odd circumstance, yet it does not to the savages. From experience they know that all animals belonging to the pale-faces become affrighted at their own proximity—often to break from their fastenings, however secure. Such a seare is likely what they see now. All the more does it assure them they will net have to deal with eoldados. These would have their horses under better discipline, would indeed by this time be on their backs, at least some of them. Satisfied of its being acamp of civilians, ata signal sent along their line, the red hor-emen make. a move forward, their ‘files becoming thicker as the cordon contracts into. nearer and harrower curve, Still they advance. slowly, not through fear or want of confidence, but because they feel sure their en- filadement is complete, and their victims inclosed. But another idea rules their cautious approach, A splendid prize is before them in that oaba@l lada, and to ride hurriedly in might to the through their ranks and loose animals area ing seattering off over the plain, with after difficulty ¢? capturing them. For just then they might have en- ough to dowith their owners. Besides, there can be ro surprise. The occupants of the camn, who- ever they be, must haveseen them Jong since, aw! are watching them now, though not, one of them- selves can be seen. Nothing so strange in this: they are inside the wagon inclosure, screened by the ridge of -alparejas that form a sort of breastwork around it. And the ruck of frightened animals rushing to and fro between prevents further view of them. The more reason for deliberate APOTORED, this attitude of the white men telling of an intention to stand upon the defense, ming convinced of this, the Indians give up thought of immediate attack. They will wait for the night’s darkness to give them a better op portunity; and when at such a distance as they deem beyond longest gun range, they again come to a halt. They would dismount, holding their horses in readiness; and some are already on the und, But, before all alight, a word is sent along their cir- cular line, ordering them up again. Something has transpired to give cause for a chenge of purpose. Soon they know what, seeing that the camp ani- mals have retreated back or gee the wagons up into an embayment of the cliff, where they stand in a clump, cowering and still showing scare, but at rest. Itis not that, however, which has made the Coyoteros remount; but because their view of the camp now being clear they still cannot see human beings in‘or around it. ith eyes bentin keenest quest between the corraled wagons, through the spokes of their wheels, all along the gempnary of pack-saddles, nothing in theshape of human form or face can they make out, Yet the sun isin their favor, and if such was there they could not fail seeing it. Puzzled are the savages now, and for the first time—since it is the first time for them to have such an rience. For the moment it even mys- tifies them, and Gronan’s of the supernatura] come creeping into their minds. They know Nauchampa- tepetl to be a place of weird repute, so-figuring in many a record and legend of their race. And now to see acam beng & cam va the f: bie every appointment appertaining, wheeled ve drawn up in corral with agrand tent inside—for the heey © still standing is conspicuous, through a b between the WeRONE th all the animals that should be there, and yet no no one seem- ing toown or control them, that is i to the point of astonishment—even awe! And for atime it so affects the savage warriors, their chief not excepted. But only foratime. Not y strange,
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8 * Queen this record uires its introduction. For, canae as it may appear, this historical Hong with its imperfections, has found its wa every corner of the world, even into the hands of the Apache Indians. How a became pos- sessed of itneeds but a word of e nation, which is, that they had it—took it—from their hereditary enemies, the Mexicans—from the infanterio of that nation, armed with the old condemned ‘ Queen Anne’s " of London Tower celebrity. Leaving this necessary digression, and returning to the Coyoteros—more especially to their chief, we hear him call out to those of his followerswho carry the ancient firelock, giving them orders to advance some paces and send shots into the white man’s camp. Dismounting, they do so, aiming at the wagons and tents inside, so correctly, that their big bullets, an ounce in weight, are seen to hit the mark. But without effect se ag, any more than if their shots were meant for the facade of cliff beyond whose rocks echo back the reports of the antiquat pieces, as if in hilarious mockery. CHAPTER XII. THE CHASE OF CRUSADER. By El Cascabel's orders, ly are the big muskets reloaded and fired into the corrai, till eve wagon has had a bullet through it, and the tent is ierced in several places. But all with the same ef- ect, the shots eliciting no other response than their own echoes. Now the Indians know for sure that = — Wey og vee Frm on — their np ow of the to phy of the place, would mystified indeed. But most of them have them- selves been on the summit of See pen te” ae and their eyes turn interrogatively towa: it, everything below. They see nothing, however; not as much asa face. For Don Estevan has directed those hy the head of the gorge to keep well under cover, in hopes of tempting the savages to an ascent in the face of his formidable battery. But the Coyotero chief is too astute for that, knowing, moreover, that there is no chance for the bs - enemy to escape him. Wrathful he is, at having been in a way outwitted, an at himself for having made the surround so slowly. It will cost him a siege, he knows not how long, inter- fe with the expedition to the Horcasitas, per- h wate we abandonment. But there is some com- ~45 | Thither the white men must have retreated, leaving | } ; | | | } : | | The Gold-seeker Guide. pany Followed still, but so far beyond it, at each bound widening the distance, that a pair of eyes watching the chase, at first apprehensively, now sparkle with delight. For they are the eyes of his own master, Henry Tresillian, standing on the mesa’s summit behind a screening tree. @ score of the savages still continue the pur- suit, among them their chief himself. For he would give much to be the owner of that matchless steed, and now strains his own to the utmost, Allin vain. Crusader forges further and further away, till he is but aspeck upon the plain. Then the baffled pur- suers, one after another, give up discouraged, at length El Cascabel also coming toa stop, and turn- ing to ride back with an air of angry disappoint- ment. The English youth, yielding to a thrill of proud exultation, waves his cap in the air, giving utterance to a triumphant “hurrah!” I'm so glad he’s got away from them,”’ he says to Vicente, by his side; *‘ wherever he may go or what- ever become of him. My noble Crusader! But wasn’t it clever? Wasn't it grand?” “Wonderful !"’ responds the gambusino, alike moved to admiration. ‘‘I never saw horse behave so in'all my born life. Santissima/ he must be a witch, if not the demonio himself."’ The Indians, leading back the captured animals, and recovering their arms, no longer delay entering the canip. Which, to their chagrin, they find not only abandoned, but well-nigh despoiled, as if other lunderers had been there beforethem! That much as been carried off, and of course of the most valu- able kind; is evinced by boxes broken open, bales unroped and the contents extracted, with here and there empty spaces in the wagons, where evidently something been stored. There is little left for them save the refuse, or effects of a nature to be of no use to them. What care they for mining tools and machinery ? More than ever are they angry and regretful of their ill-judged delay; but vow deadlier vengeance, when the time comes for it. Still that may not be soon. The very fashion of retreat shows it to have been made with delibera- tion, and that the white men intend standing a siege, | with the hopes and the wherewithal to hold out ever so long. And they, the Indians, knowing the danger of breasting that pone 8 the face of resolute de- fenders, have no thought of attempting it. But the goods that have been carried up must remain there, and sooner or later fall into their hands. So consoling themselves, the new occupants of the camp settle down to the siege, after having secured their animals—both theirown and those they have just come into possession of. All are put out to grass, ‘‘hoppled ” or tethered on. trail-ro Then the fires, ound smoldering, are replenished with fresh fuel, and blaze up brightly as ever, with spits and roasting joints all round them, This day the Coyoteros dine on beef, instead of their customary diet of mezcal and baked_horse- flesh. And a plenteous repeat they make. Not for also—visible, to say nothing of the numerous ani- | a long time have they such an opportunity of mals, & traveling party so well appointed should also | gormandizing. In their desert land of Apacheria have commodities in correspondence, promising a | apt ly tibet tostarvation point; and rich prize. hey now feast gluttonously, as if to make up for The camp oe as captured already; but in- | many a fast. stead of hastening on to take possession, he pro- Nor are they without drinkables, though none ceeds slowly and systematically as ever; for not can be gained by speed now, and something a lost—the loose animals, They are still crowd in the embayment between the cliffs, but with he ng | brought they along with them. In a corner of one be | of the wagons is a cask—which on being er gr is found to be filled with chingarita—a fiery *pI it dis- tilled from the very plant, chief staple of their food aloft and ears apeak, neighing, snorting, and restless, | —the mezcal. The Coyoteros know it well, and as if about to make a break. ‘Leave aside arms all and 1” com- mands the chief, ‘Get y the riatas /”” All together drop down from their ho those who carry spears sticking them upright in the ground, those with firelocks laying them along it. Any tmpedimenta of baggage accoutermeuts are also pulled off and flu beside. Then the vault upon their animals, each with but h trail-rope carried in coil over the left arm, to be used as & lazo, Thus disincumbered and equipped, they at length advance, not for the coup. tul the caballada; Bot ere they can close up the mouth of the cove the white men’s animals heoome more affrighted than ever, and make the burst they had been t tening horses, mules, aud oxen all together. With a noise of, thunder, the ground echoes the tread of their hundreds of hoofs, as in frenzied madness they rush out for the open plain. Little chance would there be of their reaching it but that the Indian horses catch the stampede, too, many of them be- coming =. The enfilading line is bro- ken, and through its riven ranks the camp animals sweep as @ hurricane. One is in the lead—a horse, coal black, on whom many an Indian had set eye, with Jazo ready for his capture. Crusader it is, his neigh heard above all others, as with head on high, mane tossed, and tail streaming afar, he dashes at the severed line; again uttered, as it were — , when, having cleared it, he sees no en- py 4 ore him. Half a dozen nooses are flung and after him, all ill-directed; all fall short, and slide from his glistening flanks, while as many dis- rs 6 oe cries follow him in chorus. is Bcamper and confusion now; the surround has failed, the stampede taken place, and the stam- peded animals, such as succeeded in getting off—for not all went clear—can only be captu after a chase. But the Indian horses quic' t over their scare, and are laid on the pursuit a stream of them es out on the Yano. Fresher and in better condition than the camp animals, these are soon overtaken and noosed, now one, now another, till at length only a single horse is seen beyond the second in command. They are there on reconnolter- at | | / / ; | | ) ’ though they do not themselves distill, they drink it, and are so fond of it as to wonder why the cask is there, and not also carried up the mountain! Drawn out, and rolled to the middle of the corral, they dance in delight around it, mepemioy quafil from their cala cups, with such an senomans - ment of noises that the camp, lately occupied by men and women, might seem to have come into the ion of devils. And so on, till night. Then demon-like indeed are the forms seen flitting around its fires, and as much the faces, lit up by the red glare from blazing fagots of mezquite and pifiion—both resinous trees, Btill more the discordant sounds, a chorus of cries and | ejaculations, in mad, wild yelling, as of Bedlam | broke loose. ' | | | | ’ ! i oe CHAPTER XII. RETRIBUTIVE SHOT. Ir is Le and darkness over mountain and pes pitch kness, although there isa moon in he sky. But she is not visible, obscured by a bank of thick cuinulus clouds, that have rolled up from the Californian gulf—portent of an approaching rain-storm. The savages have gone to rest; or, at all events, brought their noisy revelry to an end, and silence reigns everywhere around, save now and then a snort from a miner’s horse, or mule, with a stamp of hoof, uneasy in their new companionship; the half howl, half bark of prow coyote, and the wailing of Chuck-will’s-widow—the night-jar of So- nora—hawking for insects high over the lake, But no sound of human voice is heard, nor through the inky blackness can be seen form of man. et not all are asleep, either above or below. On the plain is a line of sentries, set at distances apart on the outer edge of the triangular where the path goes up; and inside this, by the bottom of the gorge itself, two other men, though not on sentinel "a selves being A t of course; one of the pair by them- Cascabel; the other a sub-chief, his — ing pempoasts to discover whether it be possible for the besiegers to make the ascent on a dark night un- seen, and so take the besieged by surprise. Since settling down in camp the Rattlesnake has reflected, and a thought is nov-in his mind making him uneasy. Not regret for having to forego his raid on the settlements of the Horcasitas. Unlikely that the siege would take up any more time, and the booty alone should be ample com: on, For he | has made a study of the abandoned camp, found every indication of wealth, and feels sure it late held rich treasures, They would reward him for the time lost in nese ye Bae os And as to the re- venge, & whole company of miners - nigh a hundred at least—with their wives and daughters, gran sefioras wre them, too—death to the men, and captivity to the women—that should satisfy the keenest vengeance. And perhaps it would his, were he sure of accom- lishing it, e was before the sun went down, but 8s not now, For, since, he bas thought of that which had not then occurred to him or any of his follow- ing. ht not the miners have sent off a courier back to their own country, with a demand for help? If so, it would surely come; in strength sufficient, and soon enough to raise the siege. For the head men of the pg force now know it will be a prolonged one. 6 fragments of provisions found in the wagons tell of a good store taken out of them and up. Game is there in abundance to supplement it, and water never failing—a fortress in every way supplied. Not so strange, then, the Coyotero chief being nervous at the thought of a courier baving been dispatched. For one might without having been seen by him or his. A long distance it was — from where they themselves must have been first sighted by those on the mountain. ut for the obscurity there are those on it whe would see himself and his second now. By the head of the gorge above a party of miners keep guard. They have just come on duty, the retief after a spell of ey For Don Estevan, by old ex- perience, knowing there was no danger of Indian attack in the earlier hours, had intrusted the guard- keeping of these to the more common men, Be- tween midnight and morning is the time to “*ware red-skin,’’ and the guard of this period, now com- menced, has been confided to a picked party, two cf those composing it being Pedro Vicente and his Jjidus Achates, Henry Tresillian. Guard it can scarce be called, being orly 4 small vedette-picket.. For there is ‘little fear—scarce a thought—that the Indians will attempt the ascent, at least not so soon, or without gravely upon it. * Perhaps never at all," says the gamusino, in con- fabulation with his fellow-watchers. ‘‘And why should they? They must be well aware of the chances against them. Besides, having got us ag fish in a net, they’re not likely to leap into the water themselves, where they know there are bilaron:s (sharks).”"’ Vicente has had a spellat pear)-diving in the Gulf, hence his simile drawn from the sea, “ Ay, tin‘oreros—these,” he adds, specifying the most dreaded of the aline tribe, with hand caressingly rested on one of the large stones alongside which he is lying. ey only wish they would try it, the Rattle- snake leading. 'Twould give me past the opportu- nity I want to pay that artist off for the bit of bad engraving he on my breast—by hurling one of these beauties at his head. Muiraya/ I may never have the chance to settle that sccre—not likely now.” The final words, uttered in a tone of angry, disap- pointed vengeance, are followed by an interval of silence. For the new yodettog, having just entered on their duty, deem it wise before aught else te make themselves acquainted with how matters are below. They are all im recumbent attitude, ventre a. terre, behind the pemact of loose stones. For having witnessed that ng range practice with the “ Queen Annes,”’ it occurs to them that a big bullet may at any moment come whizzing up the gorge, and just as well be out of its way. Bo, ele- vating but their eyes over, they look cantiously not even the plain, nor down. To see sages 4 the lake, to hear nothing which proceeds from humaa kind—but they know the savages are on the alert, = sentries aligned below, and for a time continue to listen. At length, satisfied there is nothing which ealls for their vigilance being kept on the strain, Vicente draws out his eaqjuncito of corn-husk cigari lights one, and sets to smoking. His comrades the watch do likewise; and the English youth, long since initiated into the ways of the country, smokes too, only his weed is a Havana. Not many minutes are they thus occupied when the gambusino, chancing to turn his eyes south- westward, sees what makes him spit the aritto from his mouth, and gaze intently. The object is up in the sky; a slight rift just opened in the bank of cloud, edged yellowish-white. The moon must be near it—is near it, and now in it! for while they are still regarding the blue spot, she shoots suddenly out from the black, as arrow from bow. Instantly night’s darkness is turned into light as of day; every object on the /lano, even the smallest, made visible for miles upon miles, up to the hori- zon’s verge. But their eyes go not s0 far, least of all those of Pedro Vicente; who at the first flash from the unvailed moon catches sight of that which arrests his straying glances, fixing them fast, Not the line of sentries, though he sees them too; but & pair of figures inside and closer, up nigh the point where the path steps upon the plain. One of them, recognized, rivets his gaze by a token of identifica- tion unmistakable—a death’s head tn chalk white, which, with the moon full upen it, gleams conspicu- ous against a background of bronze.
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————_ - The Gold-seeker. Guide, 9 ry “* Garrat! El Cascadel /” he mechanically mutters, in tone of exXultation; and without saying another word, or waiting another second, brings his rifle to shoulder, the stock to his cheek, with muzzle deep depressed. A blaze—a crack—and the bulletis sped. A ory of agony from’ below—another of anger in voice dif- férent—proclaims its course true, and that the mark aimed at has been hit, He who fired the shot knows that, by sight as well as sound. For he sees—all see—a man reeling, stag- gering, about to fall, and another with arms out- stretched, asif partly in surprise, partly with intent to support him, Only for an instant is the spectacle under their eyes. For, suddenly as she showed herself, the moon disappears with a plunge into the opaque clouds, leaving all dark as before. CHAPTER XIV. THE DEATH ‘‘ FANDANGO,”’ “You think you’ve killed him?” It is Don Estevan who interrogates, startled ont of his slumber by the report of the gambusino’s gun, which has brought him in: hurried haste to the post of guard. * Pretty sure of it, your worship,” is the rejoinder, in calm confidence. ‘We all saw him staggering—he must have gone down,”’ says another of the vedettes, confirmingly. “Tf I haven’t settled his hash,” pursues Vicente, ‘then a man may get a bullet through midribs, and live afterward—a thing not likely. Or I’m much mistaken, mine went straight centerways into the white—that sweet thing I’ve such reason to remem- ber—unluckily for him painted too conspicuously.” “Tt must have been El Cascabel, if you saw that’? **He it was, or I shouldn’t have been so quick on the trigger. Indeed,I wasn’t so confident about the carry of my piece. ‘Twas a long shot.” ‘The bullet may have hit without killing him— spent, and only stunned him?” “Tf your worship feels inclined for a bet, I'll lay big odds that ere this the Rattlesnake has kicked his last kick, or to put itmore appropriately, wriggled his last wriggle.” The auditory gathered around the gamusino would laugh at his quaint words, but ere they give way to the inclination it is checked by other words quick following in exclamatory tones: **Bet’s off, your worship—too late! I’m not the man to dishonor myself by wagering on a certainty. Oicate! you hear that?” Don Estevan does hear, as the others, sounds as- cending from below—human voices, in that melan- choly cadence which tells of lamentation for the dead. They come from the direction of the camp. in a wild crooning wail, now and then a stave, as i CO 8 were taking part in the lugubrious chorus. Atintervals, also, there are other notes, differently intoned; loud, angry ejaculations, the Apache war- ery, roclaiming vengeance only to be satisfied with blood for blood. For nearly an hour the infernal fracas is kept up, the volume of voice continuous, and redoubled by reverberation along the cliffs. Then it is abruptly brought to a close, succeeded by a silence myste- rious and ominous initself. Canit be that in their insane anger the savages have resolved upon the ascent, conte-qui-coute ? The darkness, dense as ever, would favor, and = tempt them. There is enough probability in it to make the ve- dettes more vigilant, and their numbers are now greater. After an event of such serious conse- quence, most of the people—women and children excepted—are up and active, moving backward and forward between their place of bivouac by the spring and the ravine’s head, all careful not to approach this point too near. The big muskets admonish them; though as yet no shot from one, nor from any other sort of piece, has been fired by the savages. ae mean assault, it will be by stealth, and in si- Hushed, and listening with all ears, the watchers hear nothing. A no sound of a suspicious na- ture. But Indians ean creep, or climb, noiselessly as cats—the Coyoteros especially—in this respect equaling the animal from which they have their name. And they may be worming their way up for all, snake-like among the stems of the mesquites and cactus plants. “Speaking for myself,” says the gambusino after a time, “‘I haven't much fear of them trying that trick. But, if you think it worth while, camarados to give them a hint—and perhaps it may be as we —Wwe Can spare a few of these pebbles.’’ He points ae collected stones. ‘ Half a dozen or so will do His camarados comprehend his meaning; and as Peyote es a retuumed to his tent, bonving: him : ra) j o proval of his design, Sader ot onan On the instant after, a rock pushed over the edge Seether sees ey Rerean ne en ne ing w bli borne together to the level Os se Bat they elicit no response, save the echo of their own noise, no — or cry, as if man were caught and bruised by em. After a time another is launched, with like result, then another and another at measured intervals— for they must husband their ammunition — the watchers all the while without fear that man, red or white, will face such an avalanche, dangerous as any that ever swept down the slope of Alps. At the earliest dawn they desist, as soon as they ome ae to ae eyes. : —_ _— mr see the plain below, they see a e bottom o e@ gorge only the rocks they had rolled down, with the ether débris. Further out they perceive the line of dusky | sentinels, just as they expected it to be; but no | other human form, living or dead. The doyotero chief is dead for all that—carried to the camp of the ,ale-faces, inside the great tent, where he now lies | ace upward; the pale, crepusculous light stealing | in to show that hideous device on his breast, symbol | of death itself, no longer a disk of white, but flaked | and mottled red, with a darker spot of ragged edg- | ing in the center where it was pierced by the gam- busino’s bullet. Just as the sun begins to show above the horizon’s edge, again go up the crooning cries, but now in more measured strain, For the savages are coliect- ed in the corral, a choice party of them under direc- tion of their medicine-man ranged about the mar- quee, not standing still, but circling round and round it in a slow, saltatory step—in short, dancing the ** death dance.”’ Itis accompanied by chants and incantations, in the voice of the medicine-chief himself, pitched louder than the rest, with a pause at intervals, to speak eulogies of the deceased, praise of his valor and virtues, ending in a ane appeal to his fol- lowers to avenge his death. They need not the stimulus of such exhortation. In the eyes of all vengeance is already glowing, burning, and but flashes a little angrier as they respond ina vociferous | and united yell. They upon the mesa are not witnesses to this odd ceremony, only a portion of the camp being within | their view. But ere long they have another under their eyes—a spectacle equally exciting, and of like grave ec to themselves, It takes place out on the open plain by the lake’s edge, upon a portion of the grass ground all visible from the ravine’s head. The arena is purposely chosen for the pale-faces to be spectators of it, that it may Strike terror to their souls, by giving them a foretaste of what is to be their fate. For it is the ** Fandango de craneos,’’ Anglice, Scalp-dance. What they on the mountain first see is some half- score of the savages issuing forth from the corral and taking their4~way to the appointed spot. They bear with them a long pole painted blood-red, recog- nizable as one of the wagun-tongues, drawn toa sharp point at its inner end. In a trice it is stuck beep or in the turf, showing at its top something very dif- ferent from the chains late there. Itis the skin of a human head, with the hair hanging straggled down, light-colored hair proclaiming it that of a pale-face. They could crown that pole with scores of such scalps, many having their leggings fringed with them. But for the rites of the ceremony to be per- formed one is deemed sufficient; and to make it more terribly impressive, the one selected shows by the silken gloss of the hair with its luxuriance and length to have been taken from the head of a wo- man! There are women looking at it now, and young girls of different ages. For all have left the spring and come forward to the viewing point. Itis a sight to inspire them with awe enough of itself, without their being told of a certain and terriblesig- nification attached tothe fact of a «oman’s scalp be- ing fixed to the head of that pole instead of a man’s. Pedro Vicente could make it known to them, but does not. Ere long the ceremonial of vengeful menace com- mences, the Indians approaching the ensanguined stake and forming in wide cordon around it; all of them in full war-paint, a fresh coat of it in their garish devices of various colors, scarlet and blood- red predominating. But there is one common to all, a symbol in white—the same borne by him who is sleeping his last sleep in the corral. They have but assumed it for the occasion to do honor to their dead chief. And a frightful form of demonstration it is. Over two hundred men, mahogany-colored savages, all naked to the waist, each with a death’s- head and cross-bones done in white gypsum on the central and prominent portion of his breast! "Twere enough to awe the heart of any one within their reach orin their power, and many of the spectators above tremble at beholding the horrid insignia. The dance begins, the savages in circle tramping round and round the pole “ how-howing” spon” gO, at-first in slowstep and with voice barely audible. Soon, however, the one quickens, the other becom- ing louder till the step is a violent bounding, the voice raised to highest pitch. Louder and angrier grow the shouts as they turn their eyes upward to the scalp, and still more violent their gesticulations, arms in air with weapons whirled above their heads till at length several rush at the reddened stake, an hack it down with their tomahawks. Then follows a confused struggle for the scalp, in which it is torn to — all who can appropriating shred or tress, but to spit upon it in vindictivescorn, while still fur- ther rending it! The démoniac danceis now over; someit hasmost excited come — toward the ravine, as though they really meant risking an assault. Ali above draw back out of sight, only they appointed for the defense staying b e stone artillery. But they are not called upon burl any more down just, yet. Warned by the event of overnight,.the savages think better of it, and before getting too close come to a Se) and content themselves with wordy threats anda brandishing of weapons. But, empty. impotent as is their menacing at- titude, it makes a impression on those against whom it is directed. For it tells them they may never more go down that gorge, or set foot upon the plain below, to live an hour, if a minute, after, CHAPTER XV. tw the goat dost land of Aipacheria th e ° ere are Coyoteros and Coyoteros: some abject, miserable creatures among the lowest forms of humanity, others menof fine port, courage, and strength, true Indian warriors. -Of these is the band of El Casca- bel, noted for its frequent hostile expeditions to the settlements of Sofiora, as that on which it was bent, when brought up by the Lost Mountains. So unex- pectedly deprived of its chief, will it continue on that expedition? or lay siege to the party of travel- ing miners as he intended doing? A question asked the miners themselves of one another, but not after witnessing the scalp-dance. Then they knew for sure that the siege was to.be carried out. As further evidence of it, that very afternoon the mules and horses of the caravan are collected into droves, tied head to tail, and conducted away from the ground by a number of Indians placed in charge of them— evidently that there should not be too many mouths on the pastures around the camp, which, though rood, are but of limited extent. Only some of the fodantar animals, with the beeves, are allowed to re- main as provision for the besiegers. The miners above have meanwhile been busy get- ting matters regulated in their new camp, or bivouac, soon as convinced that the enemy do not intend as- sault. Allrepair thither, only a limited number of ve- dettes keeping post bythe gorge. Around the ojo-de- ajuais witnessed ascene of curious interest. To the two tents set up on the day before are being added sheds and arbor-like huts, with such haste that ere night all are completed, for the cloud of the night before, portending rain, still covers the western sky, though not a drop has yet fallen. Just as the last of daylight glimmers over the fee 2 a very drown and downpour, as if to make up or its long absence. The sky is all obscured now, with clouds at short intervals riven by forking spears of lightning, while the accompanying thunder is almost continuous. : Under the yellow light the lake glistens as if it was molten gold, while the rebound upward from the heavy drops shows something like a golden spray hanging all over it, On beyond, the out- going stream, late but a tiny rivulet, changed to a foaming torrent, madly breaking its way across the plain; while the in-going rill from the mesa’s summit has become a series of cascades. The Indians, fearing a stampede of their horses, draw them in from their picket-pins, hopple, and make them fast round the wheels of the wagons, but they are still more solicitous about the fine caballada captured and sent away; for nearly every one of these, with all the mules, has a pack-saddle on its back with the distributed dry-goods, and other desirable articles not taken up by the gesa. In short, if that pack drove be lost they may not have much to reward them for the season’s raid. They might have sent the wagons gory J but aware of the use to which these are often put by the pale- faces, as sleeping tents, are noting the soprias of the storm, and determine to utilize them in’similar fashion. That night at least they would need them, and it might be many more. So as the rain falls, lightning flashes, and thunder rolis, there isa close-packed crowd under the tilt of each, with the big tent full to its entrance-flap; and still there is not space enough toshield all from that torrent of the sky, a large number retreating under ledges of the cliffs that overhang near by. e miners are all under shelter, they, too, sure of the approaching storm, having work hard during the later hours of the day. The mesa gave them material for wall and roof. Posts from the pamille and piiion trees with scantling es pe cut from sap- lings of many kinds, and a thatch of cycas and other —_— plants, which abounded on the sumunit. en accustomed as they to handling ropes and gear- ing, were not long in running up a house sufficient for shelter, and now every such domicile is filled to its door-jambs; men, women, and children mingled together, some standing, some seated on the bundles of goods that, but for their being inside, would have been lost. They had thought of that too. Up toacertain hour the people of quality are all inside one tent, which shows bright from a light burning inside it; their conversation is, of course, about the circumstances which surround them. Who, then, could talk of any other? Don Estevan believes that the killing of the Rattlesnake may be a disadvantage to them rather than otherwise, mak- ing the vengeance of his followers more implacable than at least it might have been. But he has yet another reason for so believing. In his own milita pee a yaa he had become acquainted with El Cas- eabel's second in command, a sub-chief, by name El Zopilote, equaling the other in hostility to the whites. while far excelling him in ability. But it is too soon yet to discuss such chances. Rest is the one thing needed. And at the usual hour for retiring, all, save those detailed for picket- guard, seek repose. Just as on the previous night the less experienced stand the first watches of the night, keeping the rain off with waterproof serapes, only at intervals need they look down, and ther, unlike as on the night be- fore, everything is seen as under a meridian sun, for it is while the lightning gleams they make their in- termittent examination of the gorge path, stream trees, and rocks illuminated by it as by a housand torches; only toward morning do their be- come less frequent, gradually dying out as the rain ceases to fall. Henry Tresillian is nh on watch duty, having i upon it, notwithstanding the opposition made by the others of his party. But he has a reason they do not understand—indeed, he has. not coamenidaied it to them; during the earlier hours of the night he fancied having observed a dark object far off on the plain, seemingly in the shape of a horse, but ae yoo | several times to look, after- ward he could not see it again, Now, on the post-
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pi O\.. midnight watch, at each blaze he runs his eye around the spot where he fancied the dark object to have deen, only in the very last one to see it again, and make sure it was a horse; but his ears tell him more than mae bes for in the dark spell succeeding the silence the elements restored he several times hears a neigh, which he recognizes as that of his own horse, Crusader. And when the day at length dawns he sees the noble animal itself only a short distance beyond the lower end of the lake, with head upraised, and muz- zle pointed up the gorge, as though in a morning salute to himself. CHAPTER XVI. AN UNLOOKED-FOR ENEMY. A THRILL of delight sweeps through the heart of the English youth at beholding Crusader in this at- titude, as if the borse said, ** You see, I’ve not for- saken you.”’ Satisfaction also to think the animal cavable of making its own way, and finding sus- tenance in those wilds; for should it ever be their fate to escape from that mountain, there might bea hope of horse and master coming together again. But there is fear peng es with these feelings, this causing the eyes of Henry Tresillian to turn with quick glance toward the left, where a small portion of the camp of the Indians is visible outside the flanking battlements of rock; every moment he expects to see issue from it a band of dusky horsemen in start for a new pursuit of his favorite. Crusader seems to have some anticipation of the same; as he stands restlessly, now glancing up the chine, anon at the corraled wagons with hundreds of horses around them. These he —- suspi- ciously, being the same with which he had already declined to associate; perbaps he may be wonder- ing where are the other horses, his companions of the caravan? Whether or no, he hesitates to a proach nearer to the old camping-ground, stead- astly keeping his place. Heis so nigh his young master that the latter might without any difficult make himself heard, and at first the English yout bad it on the tip of his tongue to call out a friendly qresting, but quick reflection showed him its impru- ence, The very worst thing he could do for the horse’s sake. Crusader would be sure to recognize his voice and pean with a neigh, which would awake a chorus of such in the Coyoteros’ camp, and at once set the savages on the alert. For the last half-hour or more the black horse had been quiet, and there were several points against his being seen. He was upon the opposite, or western edge of the stream, which bad a fringing of reeds and bushes, broken in places, but here and there continuous for yards, and behind one of these clumps he had come toa stand; even in bright day, as it now nearly is, he would there be invisible to the occupants of the captured camp. But, if only to water their horses, the Indians will soon be dashing down to the lake, and then all chance of his remaining longer unobserved will be at an end. With gaze more riveted on the horse than ever, for there is something strange in his behavior, Hen Tresilian watches him with wondering eyes, his heart audibly pulsating. What if they should again get him in a ring, and this time display more adroit- ness in hurling their laryettes? Crusader might not be so clever on every occasion. While thus speculating on the result, a noise reaches the ears of the English youth, as also of others on vedette post, which causes an instant and sudden turning of their eyes in the opposite direc- tion. Many voices, indeed, all loud and all in excited tone. Voices of men, shrieks of women, and cries of terrified children, all coming from one place, their new camp by the spring. The vedettes stay not on their post an instant longer, but forsaking it rush toward the ojo-de-agua, Sounds inexplicable, mysterious! What can be caus- ing them? The only suggestion attempted is, that the Indians after all may have contrived to ascend the mesa by some secret path known only to them- selves, and are in the act of attacking from the rear, What other enemy could cause such a scare? Every voice in the miners’ party is seemingly con- vulsed with affrights The young Englishman dashes on ahead, tearing through branches,.and bounding over trunks of pros- trate trees. Vicente, who had kept the watch with him, is close behind, though he has not such stimu- lus to haste, for amid the fracas of noises, Henry Tresillian hears a sweet voice calling out his own name in a tone of appeal. Not till they come to the very edge of the glade do they discover the cause of these wild demonstra- tions, though something seen an instant or two earlier leads Vicente to conjecture it. Men, but chiefly boys and gizis, standing on the branches of the trees high as they can climb, as thougb there to behold some passing spectacle. ** Hl orsos /—the grizzlies! It must be that,"’ says Vicente, pressing on. And soit proves. As the vedettes so mysteriously summoned in see on getting to the nearer end of the glade, which surrounds the spring, at its further one are two gigantic animals, one a quadruped, the other to all appearancesa biped. For all both are four-footed creatures, and the most dangerous to be encountered in all the desert lands of America. So ere are they ardless of the odds against them that they would advance tothe attack of horse or man, even were there twenty of these together, and have been known to come shuffling into a well-ap- pointed camp, and make grand havoc, ere means may be taken to destroy or eject them. e Indian r and African lion are not more to be dreaded in their jungles than is the ursus ferom in the districts it specially affects. The Gold-seeker Guide, Strange that the pair at the inner end of the glade had not yet shown signs of any determination to as- sail the camp; indeed, they seem to be amusing themselves at the stir their presence has created, or rather as if making amusement for the surprised people. He upon hishams, for itis the male who has so erected himself, is playing his fore paws about, as if engaged in an actof prestidigitation; while his mate, at intervals also rearing up, seems to be playing the part of juggler’s assistant, the whole spectacle being comical in the extreme. The tragi- cal part of it had not yet commenced, and for two reasons, First, that the grizzly bear seldom makes instant ae to enter on the field of battle more by accident than from any predetermined hostile resolve. Only after shammering about a while, and at intervals uttering a snort till their passions get the better of them, and then woe to man or horse that comes within the hug of their powerful fore paws, With its enormous curving claws, many inches in length, a grizzly bear has been known to drag the largest ox or horse to the ground, as a terrier would a rabbit, Henry Tresillian looks only to the two canvas tents to see the sefiora inside one, her face visible through the opening, while Gertrude is still with- out by the side of her own father and his, The young girl apnea behaving herself more bravely than any of the older peoplearound. She is inspired with fresh courage, at the sight of the English youth bounding toward her, gun in hand. By this time others have got out their guns, and a party, led by the mayor-domo, is advancing to fire on the bears. The gambusino, hitherto not having observed this party, now sees it, noting its inten- tion. He would frustrate it, and makes the attempt, shouting in loudest voice: ‘*For your lives, don’t draw trigger upon them, They may go without—” Too late; his after-words were drowned by the re- port of the steward’s great gun, and the male bear came down on all fours, evidently hit, but as evi- dently little harmed, his active motions afterward telling of a wound he no more regarded than the scratch ofa pin. It perhaps only tickled him, and his biting at the place might be but to take the itch out. It angered him, though, to the highest pitch, for again rising on his hind legs he swung his head about, snorting continuously, with an occasional scream which bespoke either pain or vengeance, There was no sign of intention to retreat on the part of either male or female, for they seemed to act in concert and with mutual understanding, this, in the moment after, impelling them to forsake their stationary spot and come rushing on toward the tents and boothies. Showing motion quick enough now, they are soon in their midst, the female in- stantly after seizing a boy, who in fright had fallen from one of the branches directly in front of her, and killing the poor lad by a single stroke of her powerful fore paw. He is not unavenged; be- fore she has time to seek forasecond victim the men with guns gather around her, and, regardless of danger, for their blood is now up, go so close that some of their muzzles become buried in her long shaggy fur. Then the cracks of eight or ten guns ring out almost simultaneously, and the she grizzly comes to ground, But the male, the more formidable of the. two, is still afoot, and where are the eight or ten guns to give him his coup de grace? Only four loaded ones are seen in hand, the majority of the people who have been able to arm themselves, in their haste, not much over a dozen, having instinctively rushed to- ward the bear that was attacking the lad: But now the other, having passed that spot, is making for one to be defended by the four guns in question— that tent, inside which are the Sefora Villaneueva and her daughter. No need to say that the defend- ers are Don Estevan, Robert Tresillian, his son Henry, and the gum/usino. A formidable defense, nevertheless, since, in addition to their guns, they carry knives and pistols, the last double-loaded. ae have thrown cloaks and other dark cloths over the tents to make them less conspicuous, but the bear seems imbued by a vindictive determina- tion to attack in that a, and straight to- ward them comes he, “ me fire first, seviores,” claims Vicente, ‘and low from my knee my bullets may turn him sideways, and if so, then your chance, pose in your broadside, aim just behind the shoul- er, half-way down,”’ Saying which the gambusino drops on one knee, bringing his gun to his shoulder not an instant too soon, for the huge monster is now within ten feet of him. Thesharp, but full report, with a tuft of hair seen starting off the bear's right neck well back on the shoulder, tells that the animal has been hit there, just as Vicente had intended it, his design be- ing for the others to get ewer | shots, which they do, one and all, the bear instantly slewing round as before to bite the wounded spot. This brought his left shoulder to front well s out, and making the best of marks, into which was simultaneously poured the contents of four barrels with twice as many bullets, hitting so close ether as to make ap ensanguined irregular disk about the size of a man’shand. No pistols nor knives were needed, no supplementary weapons of any kind, the bear breathing his last ere the reports of the guns had ceased reverberating along the cliffs. CHAPTER XVII. CRUSADER CHASED AGAIN. THe scene, all action and excitement, has never- theless occupied but a brief space of time; scarce two minutes since the geet bears first showed the glade till themselves on the rs) both lie dead within it—victims of their own ferocity. It might have been very different, and under like circumstances nearly always is. Many cases are recorded in which half a score of camp travelers have succumbed to the iusane rage of a single ery Fortunate, too, had been the miners in eir shots—no doubt due to the short range at which they were fired—for the thick, tough skin of this animalis almost ball proof, and one has been known to bear offa dozen bullets in its body, and carry them about with it afterward. The very openness of their danger, with no pros- pect of escaping it, had lent to the miners the courage of despair, and so made them more fearless in their attack; otherwise they would have fired at the enemy without approaching so near, perhaps to fail. Enough damage has been done notwithstand- ing, and a etd of lamentation succeeds the shots and general shouting, as the women gather around the body of that single victim to the fury of the bears. Frightfully mutilated it is, showing paraliel tears over the breast—the tracks of claws, all run- ning blood, and a huge gash by the throat where the first stroke had been given. * Esta Pablito Rojas!” cries a voice, identifying the lad, others adding in sympathetic chorus: *‘ Foire! pablito, pobre-ceti |” There is one who takes no part in these demon- strations—Henry Tresillian. He is in fact no longer in the aw for soon as the second grizzly had been disposed of, he started back for the vedette post, and so abruptly as to make all wonder who were observing him. Among the rest Gertrude herself, who thought it strange he should not stay to speak some words of congratulation. He but muttered one or two, with the name of his horse, well known to her, and was off. Now, from his former point of view, he again be- holds Crusader standing just as left, and still to all appearance unmolested. It is more than he ex- pected, but there may be reasons; possibly the shouts and fusilade above have for a time drawn the attention of the Indians in that direction. This will not be for long, and Crusader’s master but counts the moments till he sees him assailed and chased. Nor are they many. Just after his return to the ra- vine’s head he observes nigh three-score dusky horse- men move out beyond the flanking embattlement of rock; not hastily, nor in confusion, but in deliberate and long deployed line, which stretches afar over the Uano. Crusader sees them, too, and seems to regard them with indifference; he has taken to browsing, on a piece of rich pasture, lying along the stream’s edge, this alone for the time occupying him, That he is the objective point of their movement is evi- dent, though none of them are heading straight to- ward him, their design being evidently to get around im. After all, is he going to let himself be surrounded and approached in this easy manner? Such is the interrogatory which passes among those watching from above, for the vedette have returned to their posts with others accompanying them. One answers it, saying: “Tt is not at all likely, he'll let himself be takenina trap! More like the red-skins will find themselves in = before long. See! they begin to find it now !’’ ‘This, from Pedro Vicente in his old spirits, as he points to the line of savages far extended. The files have by this taced westward, but are ad- vancing toward the stream; now, on nearing it, they are seen to stop cee | as if in surprise. Then, after an instant, all wheel round and ride back east- ward, till getting on their old line, they return at @ gallop toward their camp. They have discovered the stream to be impassable, “That horse is the demonio himself,” says Pedro Vicente. ‘* Neither more nor less. He must have known they could not cross the swollen streamlet, or he’d never have stopped by it, as he’s done. But they’ve not given him up yet. No! see; they’re go- ing round by the head of the lake.” ust this they intend, as is seen by their advancing toward the point where the lake commences by the mouth of the ravine. They have no difficulty in crossing its ingoing stream, a few minutes after the rain ceased having reduced this to its normal condi- tion of a tiny rivulet. And like some dark, di eeable vision Henry Tresillian sees before his eyes the savage co- hort, file after file, one disappearing after another, till at length no animated form is observable on the plain below, save that their eyes have been hitherto regarding with interest. : ere is a long interval without event; nearly an hour elapses ere Crusader shows any sign, his head almost continuously to the grass, r only occa- sionally as he changes place upon it. All this time the Indians are out of sight, with no sound coming from the direction they had taken. But at length there is a sound, a startled neigh from the black horse, who, tossing his crest in air, rears upward with a curving sweep, and then darts straight away, as if in flight from an advancing enemy, The enemy seen instantly afterward as several mounted men disclose themselves from the western framework of rock, all in a tail-on-end gal- lop. Crusader has taken along the edge of the stream and follows it in parallel direction downward, ju as he fled before from the same pursuers. ere would seem no chance of their overtaking him now. For he appears to gain distance at every bound, ea even straining himself. But lo! what is at ‘+ Santos Dios! They’ve headed him. Jfilraya! what a pity!”’ It is the gambusino who thus exclaims, noring, other horsemen on the plain further points on,
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The Gold-seeker Guide, 11 TE EE TS A en ppt the stream, evidently to intercept the Chaséd steed. Crusader sees them, too, for he is now close up to them; but forsaking the course he has hitherto fol- lowed, he makes an abrupt turn and breaks off westward, continuing this direction in full gallop, till the rocks hide him from view. Alike, the pursuers thrown round, pass out of sight one after another, and again that part of the llano resumes its wonted aspect of stern, savage tranquillity. : For most of those composing the party of specta- tors the chase had no particular interest, and only a few of them were gathered around the point where it could be viewed. Indeed, but a few heard of Cru- sader being seen, the greater and more serious event obscuring that of lesser note. And now these few, one after the other, again go back to gjo-de-ugua, to take part in the duties of the day. But the English youth still stays by the vedette ost, with eye constantly directed on the plain be- ow, and ears listening intently, to catch any sound that may come from the western side; apprehen- sively, too, for he fears to hear shots. The savages, failing to catch the black horse with their /aryeties, may spitefully endeavor to bring him down with their guns. This, indeed, is the real dan- er his young master has been dreading, and which For the time engrosses all his thoughts. Luckily not for long. Within less than an hour the dusky horsemen, in twos and threes, come strag- ling back across the open ground between the fake s head and their camp, so continuing till the last of them have returned, all with discomfited air, but none with Crusader as their captive. And as no report of gun has been heard, it was more than probable he bas once more eluded them. CHAPTER XVIII. LIFE ON THE LOST MOUNTAIN. Tue exciting events above recorded, as neath | in such quick succession, are followed by a perio of repose lasting for days. Alike reigns it on the mountain summit and around its base; in the camp of the besieged as of the besiegers. Withal, in the latter there is no lack of activity; arties go and come at all hours, but more especially Soring those of the night. Scouts sent out; it may be for many purposes. But one large detail is ob- served on a certain day to make the complete round | of the mountain, every here and there halting with front toward it, asif for minute examination of its cliffs from base to summit; evidently to be satisfied whether there be any possible chance for the white men to reach the plain, otherwise than down that chine cut by the water-course. While making this reconnaissance they have been narrowly watched by eyes from above, and as no particular point has been observed to attract their attention, it is concluded that they deem their pale- faced prisoners quite secure, only calling for a _ patience ere they may eventually lay hands on em, The same movement also gives assurance to their intended victims, but of a kind not sowatisfactory. It tells them how determined their enemy is, how retentive his grasp, and implacable his vengeance. All this with no increased hope on their part of being able to escape him. Thought of how has not yet taken shape in their minds. How could it? So many present facts and fears engrossing them, they have found little time to reflect on the future. And a new fear has now arisen which calls for steps to be taken. There may be other grizzly bears on the mesa. and if s0, these monsters will be prowl- ing around the camp to assail it at any instant. Better they be met outside at a distance off, there attacked, and if possible exterminated, This conclusion come to, Don Estevan gives orders | for al] to arm, and a general dative is made over the summit of the cerro. Paths are hacked through the underwood vans Seber ba) laying open many a spot never before trodden by foot of man. Strange birds are flushed from their nests, and strange animals are seen stealing away through the thick tangle of Zianas, chiefly of the reptilian order, as armadillos lizards, the curious horned frog (agama cornuta), and serpents—most numerous of that whose retreat is marked by the defiant rattle, which has given it its name. Scores of cascabelés are started out of the dead leaves and branches, their vibratory “ skirr ” resounding everywhere. But quadrupeds turn up as well. At intervals the crack of gun tells of one shot at, whether killed or no. Now a wild sheep, now ag Sp antelope, or it may be but a hare or rabbit. The great wolf is also found there, and his lesser and more cowardly congener, the coyote but no more bears—grizzly or other—nor sign of them. Evidently the two killed at the camp were the sole monarchs of the moun- tain. The day’s hunt, for it occupied a whole day, gives satisfaction in more ways than one. First, by doing away with all spprehension of danger from wursus Serow ; secondly, by affording a plentiful supply of present food; and, thirdly, in there being still more = the mountain giving proof of the abundance of em. Nor is the vegetable element lacking, but present in all its varieties of root, fruit and berry. The mezcal, whose baked stem forms staple food for their enemies, grows on the mesa. Its useis known to the gambusino, as others of the miners. Several sorts of mezquité trees are found ye whose long, pendulous siliques contain seeds which can be round into a meal making nutritious bread; while the cones of the edible pine (pinus edulis)—* fruit, there are several varieties of the cactus, with that of pear-shaped, pear, the famed pitathaya. In short, the Cerro-Per- dido is a very oasis, its cornucopia peculiar to the desert. Withso bountiful a supply of provisions the besieged need not fear famine, at least for a long time. Their resources carefully husbanded may last for weeks. And on time rests their only hope; their sole chance of being rescued depending on that, oy nome means or other their situation may become known ——— friends at Arispe, or their countrymen else- where, But what likelihood of this? A: already stated the Lost Mountain is out of the line of all travel and traffic. Months, a year, nay, years may elapse ere a@ wayfarer of any kind stray to it, or near it. So their chances of being seen there by friendly eyes, to say naught of their position being understood, are as those of castaways on a desert isle in mid- ocean, And as shipwrecked men they hoist signals of dis- tress. Any one approaching that solitary eminence from the south might wonder to see a flag ig oe | from a tall staff over its southern end, giving ita the greater resemblance toa fortress with banner waving above, A tri-color flag, bearing the symbolic badge of the Mexican Republic—the Eagle Spee the Nopal! Itis that Don Estevan had meant to have erected over the new mine, now little likely ever to be Seperce there. For nowitis unfolded to tella tale of threatening disaster, and attract the eyes of those who may do something to avert it. But for this. dark uncertainty of future there is nothing irksome, not even disagreeable, in their present life. On the contrary, it might be even called pleasant; pony to eat, Hong to drink, suf- ficient freedom of range, a sapphire sky above, with an atmosphere around them whose heat is tempered by breezes ever blowing, ever laden with the fra- grance of fruit and flower. And no scene of somber, gloomy silence; instead, one enlivened by the notes of many wild warblers, both diurnal and nocturnal. By day the jarring, yet cheering cry of the blue jay and the red car nal; the mewing of the cat-bird, or the ‘‘hew-hew”’ of hawk in pursuit of his victim. By night, the more melodious, all ye gg fake! song of the czertzontle—mocking-bird of Mexico—oft intermin- gled with another song, but little less powerful or sweet, that of the euitlacoche—a secon species of New World nightingale, not so well known. Life in the odd aéria] camp now settles down into a sort of routine, each day having its separate calls and duties. The watch is, of course, kept up, and with no falling off in its vigilance. Foralthough the besiegers have not again shown any sign of an in- tention to try the assault, who knows what may be in the minds of these subtle savages? Only at night need there be any fear, and only when it is darkest. At other times the vedette duty is a matter of easy fulfillment. In truth, the miners might almost fancy them- selves in picnic, having a happy time of it, half- way between earth and heaven. But they are not there by choice, too well knowing its stern neces- sity. And this, with the dark, doubtful future, robs them of all zest for enjoyment. Sothe hours pass not merrily, but wearily. CHAPTER XIX. WHO TO BE THE FORLORN HOPE? Day succeeds day with no brightening of hopes to those beleaguered on the Lost Mountain. Instead, in each something arises to make their prospects darker, if that were possible. About ten days after the commencement ef the siege, the besiegers have their force increased; a fresh party coming down from the north, evidently in obedience to a summons, which they, who drove off the captured ca/allada, have carried back. But for what purpose this accession of strength, when it is not needed? They on the ground are already enough, and to spare. The miners cannot guess what they have come about, unless it be the remaining braves of the tribe, to take eg in some ceremony over their fallen chief, or be present when the time arrives for the wreaking of vengeance. It has nothing to do with that, however; solely a conception of their new leader, El Zopilote, who has his reasons for carrying out the raid down the Hor- casitas. Soon the second day after, the besieging party, instead of being one hundred men the more, all that the less; at least two hundred seen to issue forth from the camp, and proceed southward in full war-painted panoply, and with all their frightful insignia. As successive files they move off along the stream's edge, it might seem as some gigantic serpent commencing its crawl toward prey, And many on the mountain, with a suspicion of where they are going, have a pitying heart for — who live on the banks of the lower Horca- sitas. Enough, however, to think of themselves, and each hour more than enough; for as the 8 pass circumstances present a still sterner front. The supply of provisions, at first seeming inexhaustible, proves to have a Umit. There are over seventy mouths to feed, which calls for a large daily quantity, So one by one the wild quadrupeds give out, the birds lon ore these, frightened by the constant chase and fusilade, forsaking, Sie place al- together. The store of ¢asajo and other preserved meats begins to be drawn upon. When these come to an end, so too must the suspense, all the agonies of that quaint, quasi imprisonment, to terminate in real captivity, or ind death itself. Tn the tent of Don Estevan some seven or eight of the mining people are assembled; the two duefios are of course present, with the mayor-domo, the chief engineer, and other heads of departments. { No need to say the gambusino is among them, They are there to take counsel on the events of the day, and the means of the morrow. Every night it hag been their custom to do so, and on this one—for it is at night—there is nothing very different to speak of from any other. Still Don Estevan has conceived a thought which had not hitherto occurred to him, and now lays it before the assembled conclave. “ Cabulleros, 1 can think of only one way—poor, doubtful chance it is—by which we may get rescued. Some one must contrive to pass their sentries,”’ “Impossible!” is the thought of all hearing him, one or two expressing it in speech. For of all the things observed as vigorously kept up, never relaxed for an hour—even a moment—has been that senti- nel line thrown across the plain from flank to flank of the ravine. All day long it has appeared there, and all through the night evidently redoubled, * Pity if it be,” rejoins Don Estevan, yielding to what appears the general sentiment. ‘And to think that one word at Arispe would make all well. My own brother-in-law, Colonel Requenes, in com- mand there with a regiment of lancers—they of Zacatecas. In less than half an hour they could be in the saddle, and hastening to our relief.” Ay Dios! if we can’t communicate with them we are lost— surely lost!’’ At this, Robert Tresillian says, interrogatively: “T wonder how many of our people could find the i back to Arispe?” ithout altogether comprehendi what he means, several numbers are mentioned in a guessing way, according to the estimate of each. Pedro Vi- cente thinks at least thirty could, certainly all the arrieros and waqueros, “What is your idea, Don Roberto?” at length asks the senior partner. “That all of those who know the way back be mustered, and two taken from them by lot, who will run the risk of passing the Indian sentries. If they succeed, then all may be saved; if the contrary, it will be but to lose their lives.a little sooner. I pro- pose that all submit to the lottery—all who are un- married.” “T agree with the Sefior Tresillian,” here puts in the gambusino, ‘Some of us must contrive to get past them at whatever risk. For my part, I’m will- ing. to be one, with any other.” he geneions Bey sal is received with applause, but not accepted. It would not be fair; and in fine it is agreed pA that fate shall determine who shall be the pair to run the proposed risk—the cere- mony for deciding it to take place on the morrow. In the morning it comes off soon as breakfast is eaten, All known to be eligible are summoned to- gether on a spot of ground apart, and told the pur- port of their being soassembled, No one objects, or tries to evade the dangerous conscription; instead there are even some who, like Vicente, would volun- teer for the duty. For is not one of the duefios—the brave Englishman and his son, there present, both offering themselves as candidates like any of the common men? No volunteering then is allowed, fortune alone rmitted to decide on whom shail be the forlorn ope. Phe quaint lottery, though awe-inspiring, occupies but a brief space of time. Against the number of men who are to take part init, a likenumber of pivior. nuts have been counted out, and dropped into a deep-crowned sombrero. Two of the nuts have been already stained with gunpowder, the others left in their natural color; but no one by the feel would tell which was which. The black ones are to be the prizes, The men stand in a ring round Don Estevan, with another who is among the exempt, in the center. These hold the hat, into which one after another, stepping from the circle, led forward blindfolded, inserts his hand and draws out a nut. If white he oes clear; but long before the white ones are ex- austed, the two blacks are taken up, which brings the ceremony to an abrupt end, that deciding all. They who have drawn the prizes are a muleteer and a cattle-drover, both brave fellows. They had need be, for this very night they will have to run the gantlet of life and death, perhaps ere the morrow’s sun to be no more, CHAPTER XX. A FATAL FAILURE, Ir is a day of anxious solicitude. If the night turn out a dark one, the messengers whom fate has chosen for the perilous enters are to set out on their errand. They know it is to be a moonless one, but for all, in the diaphanous atmosphere of that, upland plateau, it may be too clear to make the passing of the Indian sentinels at all possible. The afternoon begets Panes a bank of heavy clouds is seen rising along the western sky, which rolling higher and higher, brings on a down-pour of rain. Itis of short continuance, however—over be- fore sunset, the clouds again dispersing. Then the darkness comes down, but for a long time only in a limmering of gray, the stars in grand sheen, mak- ng it almost as clear as if there was moonlight. e sentinels can be seen in their old places like a row of dark stakes, conspicuous agai the green turf on which they are stationed. ey are at short distances apart, and every now and then forms are observed moving from one to the other, asif to keep them continuously on the alert. So thus, nigh up to the hour of midnight, and the miners begin to despair of their. messengers being able to pass out, at least on this night. But soon, to their satisfaction, something shows itself prom a different result. The surface of the lake has suddenly turned white, as if under a covering of snow. It is fog. Through ithe heated
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12 ‘ > ——— atmosphere the lately fallen rain is rising in vapor, and within its misty shroud it envelops not only the lake, but the plain around its edgre. It rolls over tho Ine of savage watchers, on up between the jaws of the chine, till in its damp, c amimy film, it. em- braces the bodies of those who are waiting above, “ Now’s your time, muchachos |” says Don Estevan, addressing himself to those who are to adventure. “There could not bea better opportunity; if they can’t be passed now, they never can,” The two men are, there, ready and er pure for the undertaking. Young fellows both, with a brave look, and no sign of quailing or desire to back out ®ach carries a small wallet .of provisions strapped to his person, with a pistol in his belt, but no other arms or accouterments to incumber them. — In snubtleness.and activity, more than mere physical force, lie their chances of success, A shaking of hands with such of their old com- rades as are near, farewells exchanged when they pass over the parapet of loose stones to commence the déscent, with many & **¢a con Dios!” sent. after them in accents of earnest prayerfulness. Then fol- lows an interregnum of profound silence, during which time they at the ravine’s head listen wit. keenest anxiety, , After afew seconds a. slight rustling below. tells that one of the two has made.a slip, or pushed a stone out of place; but nothing comes of it. Thena horse neighs in the distant camp, and soon after an- other, neither of them having any significance. No more, the streaming of wild fowl at the lower end of the Jake, nor.the, queruious, cry of ** chuck-wills widow,” hawking high over. it. None of these sounds have any portent as to the affair in hand, and they listening begin to hope that it has suc- ceeded; for surely there has been time for the two men to.have got beyond the guarded line? Hope premature! alas to be disappointed. Up out.of the mist comes the sound of voices, as if in bail, followed by dubious response; and quick suc- ceeding a struggle with shots. Then a ery or two as in agony, @ shout of triumph, and all silent as be- fore, For the rest of the night they on the mesa sleep not. Too surely has their scheme failed, and their messengers fallen victims toit. If there were any doubts about this, these are set at rest at an early hour of the morning. Sad evidence they haye to convincethem. Onthe spot where the scalp-dance had taken place a red pole is again erected, as the other, ornamented with the skins of human heads, But not now to be danced around; though for a time they, looking from above, think there is to be a repetition of that savage ceremony, Soon they are undeceived, and know it. to be @ spectacle still more appalling. From the camp they see'a man conducted, whom they ideniihy 8 one of their ill-fated messengers. Taken on to the stake, he is placed back against it, with arms extended and strapped to a cross-piece, in a way representing the figure of the Crucifixion. His breast Tyas been. stripped bare, and on it is seen ainted in white the hideous symbol of the death’s- Pasd and cross-bones! For what purpose all this display the spectators conjecture among themselves. Not long till they have the answer. They see several scores of the savages hig themselves ata certain distance off, each hand, one after the other taking aim and Aipy apie his piece at the human target. Gradually the disk on the breast is seen to darken, turni ed, till at jength che Spat of white is visi- 6 hea ble. But, long ere this of the hapless vic- ‘tim, drooped over his shoulder, tells that he is dead. The cruel tragedy is repeated, showing now what was not known before, that both the ill-starred couriers had been taken alive, He brought forth next is recognizable by the picturesque dress still on his person, as the vaguero. But when taken up to the stake he is stripped of it, the velveteen jagueta ulled from off his shoulders, his shirt torn away, feaving his breast bare. Then, with a hurried touch, ‘tthe grim, ghastly device is limned upon him, and he is taken up to the pole as the other. A fresh fusilade commences, the white predually show Sis eTs till at length it is deeply incrim- soned, and the raquero is a lifeless corpse. en it is all over, the Coyoteros turn toward the gorge, and, looking up, give-utterance to wild yells of triumph, brandishing their weapons in a threat- ening manner, as much as to say: saepets the,way we’ll serve you all when the time (pose CHAPTER XXL A PRODIGIOUS LEAP, Nerpwzss to say that the failure of their scheme with such fatal consequences has deepened the loom in the minds of the besieged miners, already Sark enough. Now more than ever do they believe themselves doomed. ere seems no alternative left but surrender or starvation; and as both are alike certain’ peath, they dwell not on the first. True, starvation is not yet so close at hand; they have! provisions—some of the old caravan stores —sufficient for a couple of weeks, if carefully served out, while the live stock, furnished by the mesa it- self, not all been exhausted, Some animals as co ain uncaptured, though how many they <now ; To 4] sure, another grand battue is set on foot to embrace. the whele summit area, Every out- rner ad. Aa ry are quartered and ‘no four- ooted crea could pos- gets rem Ag psy ' ons, tho’ peckgehor antelope, the last of a TThe Gold-seeker Guide, band that had been daily getting thinned; several sage hares, a wolf and three or four coyotes, More of these last were started, but not killed, as they have lairs in the ledges of the cliffs to which they betake themselves secure from pursuit of hunter. While the Jattueis atits hight, one large quadru- ped is put up, which more than any other excites the ardor of those engaged. It is a rg Folly or Rocky Mountain sheep, remnant of that flock first foun me the mesa by Vicente and Henry Tresil- lian; itis also a ram, @ young one, but with grand curvature of horns. One after another all the rest have been made mutton of, and their bones lie bleaching around the camp; but, though several times chased, this sole survivor has ever contrived to escape, as though it had a charmed life. And now again it seems still under such. protection; for at starting several shots are fired at it, none taking effect; and it bounds on apparently unharmed to- ward an outlying projection of the plateau. Those who have emptied their guns follow without staying to reload; for they form a line which, de- loyed crossways, cannot fail to inclose and cut off its retreat, making escape impossible. In fine they effect this purpose; some with guns still charged, confidently advancing to give the animal its coup de grace. They are even aiming at it, when, lo! a leap upward and outward, with head bent down as one making a dive, and the Big-horn bounds over the cliff! Five hundred feet fall—shattered to atoms on the rocks below !—this their thought as they approach the precipice to see the prodigious leap that must have been taken by the animalin its panic of fear. One, however, draws nigh with a dfferent thought, knows there Was method in that seeming madness, and that the carnerd sprung over with a design. Pedro Vicente it is; and with the others soon upon the cliff’s brow, and, gazing below, to their. surprise they see nO sheep there, dead and crushed as ex- posted, Instead, a live one_out upon the Wano, mak- ng off in strides long and vigorous! Sure of its being the same they have just driven over, all are astounded, expressing their astonish- ment in loud ejaculations. Alone the gambusino is silent, a pleased expression pervading his counte- nance; for that extraordinary feat of the horned creature has let a fresh flood of light into his mind, giving him renewed hope that they may still be saved. He says nothing of it to those around, leav- ing it for more mature consideration, and to be dis- cussed in their council of the night. But, long after the others have returned to camp he linzers on the cliff, treading back and forward along its crest, surveying it from every point of van- tage, as thou hin an endeavor to find out how the sheep made that eXtraordinary descent, Another night is on, and, as is their wont, the chief men of those besieged are assembled in the tent of Don Estevan. Not discouraged yet, for there is a rumoramong them that some new plan has been thought of for passing the Indian sentries, less likely to be disastrous than that which has failed. It has been the whisper of the afternoon, their guide being regarded as he who had conceived a scheme. hen ajl are together Don Estevan calls upon him to declare it, saying: “T understand, Sefier Vicente, you’ve thought of a way by which a messenger may yet elude the vigifance of their sentries, and get beyond them?”’ ‘Ihave, your worship,’ ‘*Please make it known.”’ “Nothing more simple; and I only wonder at not bay Promos’ of it before. After all, that would have been useless, for only this day have I discov- ered the thing to be possible.”’ “We long to hear what it is.”’ “Well, sefiores; it’s but to Going out by the back door, while they are 60 care- iy. guarding the front. That can be done by our letting one down the cliff—two if need be.” “But where?” “Where the carnero went over.” ““What! five hundred feet? Impossible! We have not rope enough to reach half the distance.” ‘We don't need rope to reach much more thana third of it.” “Indeed! Explain qe Don Pedro.” “T will, your worship, and it is thus. I’ve exam- ined the cliff carefully, where the sheep went over. There are ledges at intervals; it is true, not wide but broad enough for the animal to have dropped upon and stuck. They can cling to the rocks like squirrels or cats. Some of the ledges run down- ward, then zig-zag into others, also with a down- ward slope; and the ram must have followed. these, now and then making a plunge, where it became necessary, to alight on his hoofs or horns as the case might be, Anyhow, he got safe to the bottom, as we know, and where it went down so might we.” There is a pause of silence, all looking pleased; for the words of the gambusino have resuscitated hopes that had almost died out. They can see the pore ility he speaks of, their only doubt and draw- ack being the fear they may not have rope enough, “Itseems but a question of that,"* says Don Es- tevan, as if speaking reflectively to himself. The others are also considering; each trying to re- call how much and how many of their trail-ropes were brought up in that hasty debendade from their ona a * Por Dios! your worship,” rejoins the gambusino, “it is no question of that whatever. We have the materials to make cords enough, not o to go ive them the slip. rege the sp but all round the mountain. es, if t were needed |’ ** What materials?’ demand several of the party, "Nira! éxclaima the gambuiino, “This! He starts ss from a bundle of dry mezcal leaves on which he had been seated, pushing it before him: with his foot. Allcomprehend him now, knowing that the fiber’ of these is a flax, or rather hemp, capable of being worked into thread, cloth or cordage; and they know that on the mesa is an unlimited supply of it. “No question of rope, caballeros ; only the time tt will take us to;-manufacture it. And with men ag you, used to such gearing, that should not be long.’™ “Tt shall not,” respond all, ‘* We'll work night: and day till it be done.” ‘One day, I take it, will be enough—that to-mor- row, And if luck attend us, by this time to-morrow night we may have our messengers on the way, safe beyond pursuit of these accursed red-skins.”’ Some more details are discussed maturing their plans for the ropemaking. Then all retire to rest, this night with more hopeful anticipations than they have had for many preceding. CHAPTER XXII, A YOUTHFUL VOLUNTEER, ANOTHER day dawns, and as the earliest rays of the sun light up the Cervo Perdido, an unusual bustle is observed in the camp of the besieged. Men are busy collecting the leaves of the mezcal plant, those that are withered and dry from having their corms cut out days before; fortunately there are many of these lying all around. Other men, armed with rudely-shaped mallets, beat them against the trunks of trees, to separate the fiber from the now desic- cated pulp; while still others are, twisting this inte threads, by a further process to, be converted into thick ropes. Itis found that after all not so much will be needed; several lassoes had been brought up, tied around the bundles of goods; and with these and other odds and ends of cordage, a rope can be put together full two hundred feet in length, strong enough to sus- tain the weight of any man. So, long before night the lowering apparatus is ready, and, as before, they await the darkness to make use of it, Meanwhile Don Estevan, the two Tresillians, and Vicente spend most of the morning on the cliff where the Big-horn went over, surveying it from every pos- sible point, taking the bearings of its ledges, and estimating their distances from one another. They are, as the gambusino had represented them, a suc- cession of narrow benches, but wide enough for & man to find footings; some horizontal, others with a slope downward, then a zig-zag bringing them lower, till within a hundred feet from the cliff’s base, the fa- cade of rocks shows sheer and clear. Down to this »oint, all will be easy; and beyond it they anticipate ittle difficulty, now that they are sure of having suf- ficient rope. While engaged in their reconnaissance an object comes under their eyes, which they gaze upon witb interest, They are upon the western side of the mesa, not far above its southern point, the plain on that side being invisible from the camp of the be- siegers; and on this, at the distance of a mile or more, there is a spot of pasture due to a tiny rivu- let, which, filtering off from the side of the lake, be- comes dispersed over a considerable surface, which it moistens and makes green, hi tem. Tp and fro over this verdant stretch is the object which has caught their attention—a horse of large size and coal-black color, which they know to be no other than Crusader. They are not surprised at wage og there. Habitually he frequents this spot, which has become his aceustomed pasturing- ground, and more than once had ery Tresillian stood on that cliff regarding him with fond, affec- tionate gaze; more than once, too, had the Indians ain gonein chase of him, to be foiled as before. ere is he still unlassoed, free of limb as the aate- lopes, seen flitting over the dlano around him. After completing the examination of the preci- pier and noting all details that may be needed to 1elp out their design, they stand for a time gazing at the horse, his young master with a thought in his mind which he withholds from the others. Nor does he communicate it to them till after their return to the camp, and the question comes up, who are the ones to lowered down; for it is thought better that two Sicescagers should be sent as Company and support to each other, Thatis the question to be decided, and up to this hour all expect it to be as before—by lottery. In fine, when the time arrives for settling it, and the eligible ones are again assembled for drawing lots, a proposal is made which takes every one pres- ent by surprise, It comes.from the youngest of the party, Henry Tresillian, who says: “Let me go alone.”” * All eyes turn upon him Inquiringly and in wonder, none more than those of his father, who exclaims: auaeee go alome,my son! Why do you propose “ Because it will be best, father.” ‘How best? Ido not understand you,” ** Crusader can only carry one,” “ Ah! Crusader—that’s what you're thinking of?’ ** Por Dios |” exclaims the senior partner,‘ I see what your son means, Don Roberto; his idea is ad- mirable.” , “Yes,” says the English youth, in answer to his father; ‘I've been thinking of it ever since yester- oey. n Crusader'’s back I can be at Arispe days before any foot Neon tay haan oh Aero there, Once I have him between my no fear of over- mt Peet thing!” cries Don Estevan, delighted @ ve ” cries Don " “But, Senor He ue, are you sure you can me é toh hima he will to my call. O a e.will come my . Once on the plain, and. within hoarte, of voice, I’ve no fear of patty: med by my fide.”
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than you, muchacho.” “WE may be,” returns the other. “ButI know tt well enough. Besides Crusader will let no one catch him but myself—much less ride him." During all this conversation the bystanders regard the young Englishman with looks of ardent admira- tion, Never before have they seen so much courage combined with intelligence. And all to be exerted | in their favor; for they have not forgotten the fate of their two comrades, put to death in such cruel fashion. Every one of them fears that the like may | befall himself, should it be his ill luck to draw a | black pion out of the sombrero. Not the léast in admiration is Robert Tresillian | himself; his heart swells with pride at the gallant bearing of the boy, his own son, worthy of the an- cestral name; and when Don Estevan turns to him | to ask whether he objects to the proposal, it is to receive answer: “On the contrary, Iapprove.of it. Foot messen- dehy might not reach in time, if at all. My brave | 54 will do it if it can be done; it may be the means of bringing rescue to us all. If he fail, then L, like the rest of you, must submit to fate.”’ _ ‘I'll not fail,” cries the impetuous youth, rushing forward and throwing his arms round his father. Fear not. I havea belief that.God’s hand is in it, else why should my noble horse have stayed? Why is he still there?” “ Virgen santissima { exclaims Don Estevan, in ; devout tone. ‘It would evenseemso. Let us hope and pray that the Almighty’s hand is in it. If so we shall be sarsi.” Henry Tresulian is the hero of the hour, though he has been a favorite with the people of the caravan | all along; aw: kind offices to this one and that ing a | | | } one, lielp who needed help. But now, when they bear how he has volunteered on this dangerous service, as it were offering up his life for theirs, encomiums are loud on all sides. Women fall upon their knees, and, with crucifix in hand, offer up prayers for his protection. But Gertrude? Oh, the sad thoughts—the utter woe that strikes through her Sait anton she hears tidings of what is in- tended! She receives them with a wild cry, almost a shriek, with arms outstretched staggering to the side of her mother for support. **‘Mamma, father must not let him go. He will be lost, and then—then!”’ ‘‘Have no fear! Think, hija mia, we may all be lost if he do not."’ “But why cannot some other go in his place? There are many who know the way as well as he, and that brave gamlusino I'm sure would be will- **No doubt he would, dearest; there’s some reason ——- it [do not quite understand. We shall hear soon, when father returns to the tent.” They do hear the reason, but not any the more to reconcile Gertrude. The young girl is half beside herself with friet, utterly indifferent as to who may observe it. bud of her love has bloomed into a flower, andshe recks not that all the world know her heart is Henry Tresillian’s. The cousin left be- hind at Arispe, supposed to be an aspirant to her hand, isforgotten. All are forgotten, save the one now near, so soon to be cruelly torn away from her. Neither the preserce of her father and mother, nor that of his father, restrain her in her wild ravings; she knows she has their approval of her partiality, and her yo heart, innocent of guile, yields to na- ture's promp i Her appeals are in vain; what must be must be, and she at length herself to the inevitable. For Henry himself tells her how it is, and that no one ibly could take his place. It is in dialogue between them just as the twilight begins to its purple shadows over the plain. For the time is drawing nigh for action, and the two have gone apart from the camp, to speak the last | words of leave-taking. They stand under a tree, | hands clasped, gazin: to each other's e those of the young 1 full of tears. oo “* Querida,’’ he says, ‘do not weep! 'Twill be all well I feel sure of it.” “Would that I could feel so, Henrique; but, oh! dearest, such danger! And if the cruel savages | capture you. Ay Dios! to think of what they did with the others.’ “Let them catch me if they can. They never will pw 7“ get alongside Crusader. On his back I may them." e e, I bélieve it. But, are you sure of getti bs ag back? In the darkness you may not fin “If not, it will be but to return to the cliff and be drawn up again,” _ This assurance somewhat tranquilizes her; there is at least the hope, almost certainty, he will not, as the others, be sacrificed to a fruitless attempt; and, so trusting, she says, in conclusion: “Go, then, guerido mio, T will no more oppose it, but pray all night long for your safety. I see now it is for the best, and feel that the blessed Mary, mother of God, will listen to my prayer.” No longer hands clasped, but arms entwined breast touching breast, and lips meeting in a kiss of | ae holy affection, sanctified by parental consent. en they return to the camp, where the final prepa- rations are being made for that venture upon which 80 much depends. CHAPTER XXIil. A acy ga et rie oo pre Ir turns out just such a as wis or still not obscurely dark. Too much dark- defeat the end in view. .They need light moo DeSss Wo! The Gold-seeker Guide. for the lowering down, a thing that will take some time with caret management. But the miners are the very men for such purpose. Not one of them who has not dangled at a rope’s end ina hundreds of feet sheer down into the earth. To them it is habitude—child’s play, as to him who spends his life scaling sea-coast cliffs for the eggs and young of birds. Itis yet early when the poet intrusted with the undertaking assemble on the e of the precipice, at the point where the darin venturer is to make descent. Some: coils of rope, others long poles notched at the end for fending the line off the rocks, while the gam>usino is seen bearing a burden which differs from all the rest. A saddle and bridle it is: his own, cherished for their costliness, but now laced at the service of his young friend to do what e will with them. “TI could ride Crusader without them,” says the English youth; ‘“‘guide him with my voice and knees; but these will make it surer, and I thank you, Sefior Vicente.” ** Ah! muchacho, if Sher but. help you how ree ‘twill make me feel. If they’re lost it wouldn’t be for that I'd grudge the twenty dollones the saddle cost me. [I ee ten times as much tu see you seated in it.on the plaza of Arispe.” . “T'll be there, aznigo, in less than sixty hours, if Crusader hasn't lost his strength, by too long feed- ing on grass,"’ “T faney you need not fear that, sefiorito; vou horse is one that nothing seems to affect. T still oma ener bay the devil A arene 1 * Better believe him an angel—our good ange now, as I hope he will prove himself.” This exchange of speech between the two who have long been compagnane de chasse is only an inter- lude occurring while the ropes are being uncoiled and made ready. Instead of a loup to be passed around the adven- turer’s body, a very different mode for his making descent has been prearranged. He is to take seat in the saddle justas though it were on the back of a horse, and, with feet the stirrups and hands clutching the cords that suspend it, be so let down. A piece of wood passed under the tree, and firm] — to pommel and cantle, will secure its equi- um. Finally all is ready, and the daring rider taking bis seat, is soon sulating in mid-air. Hand over hand they lower him down, slowly, cautiously, listening all the while for a signal to be sent _ This they ee in due time—a low whistle telling them that he as reached the first. ledge, though they could tell it by the strain upon the rope all at once having ceased. Up it is drawn a ain, its Owner himself in turn taking seat in it, to be lowered down as the other. Then and gow it is hoisted up and let Kise) till half a score of the miners, stalwart men, Robe: Tresilian among them, stand on the bench below. Now the saddle is detached and fastened onto an- other when i! mane prceses, is aeaaiet i; as so on, advantage bein en of the slop S till the last is arrived at. Here it is but a repetition of what has gone before, only with a longer reach of rope; and here Pedro Vicente takes Jast leave of the youth who has be- come so endeared to him. In the eye of the honest gambusino there is that not often seen there, a tear. He flings his arms around the English youth, exclaiming: “* Dios te guarda, muchacho caliente! (God guard you, my brave lad).”’ The parting between the two is almost as affection- ate as that between Henry and his father, the last saying, as he infolds his son in his arms: ‘God with you, my noble boy!"’ In another moment the daring youth is once more in the oye goin own ores till me Ppt ¢ som upon the p) f en, stepping out of it. send- ine: up the preconcerted ieee and bridle from the cords, leaving the latter to swing free. Shouldering the horse-gear, with other dmpedi- menta, he looks round to get his bearings, and, soon as satisfied about these, starts off over the plain in search of Crusader. He is not the only one at that moment making to find the horse. From the Indian camp a_picked has issued forth, urged by the chief. For the new leader of the Coyoteros longs to possess that now famous steed as much as did the deceased one. “Ten of my bett mustangs, and as m of my mules, willI give for the black horse of the pale- face. He who captures him can claim that reward.”’ More than once has El Zopilote thus declared hiin- self ae ardor and cupidity of his followers. Withal they have chased Crusader in vain, over and over again, tillin their superstitious faucy they be- gin to think him a phantom. But as yet they have never tried_to take him by night; and now, having ascertained the place where he usually _— the nocturnal hours, they start out in quest of him. ‘ot rashly nor incautiously; instead, they proceed deliberately and with a preconceived plan, as though stalking game. Their intention is first to enfilade the animal at long distance off, then contract the circle, so as to have him sure. In execution of their scheme, on reaching the western side of the lake they divide into two parties. | One moves along the mountain’s foot, dropping a file here and there; the other strikes out over the ano, in @ Circular line, as it proceeds doing the same. Itis too dark for them to see horse or other ob- ect at any great distance, so they take care that eir circle be wide enough to embrace the stretch es pasture where the coveted animal is known to rowse, Noiselessly they execute the movement, going at , he detaches saddle | | 13 a slow walk, lest the hoofstrokes of their horses may alarm one they would inclose; and when the heads of the separated parties again come together, all know it by a signal agreed _upon—the cry of the coyote transmitted along their line admonishes them that the cordon is complete. CHAPTER XXIV. ‘ONCE MORE UPON CRUSADER, eet soe + a “ Sich sai huntred yards from the cliff when the Indian northward, passes close to the spot where yr. been let down. Luckily not so close as to observe the rope still ra: pegs | there, and far enough from himself to hinder their seeing him, For the ob- scurity makes it impossible to distinguish objects unless very near. Neither sees he them, nor has any suspicion of their dangerous proximity ; and without stop or stay he keeps on toward the point where he expects te find his horse. He not without a guide. At the latest hour of twilight he had seen Crusader about a mile off, in a direction due west; and although the night is dark, some of the stars are visible, among them the Polar. With this on his right shoulder he cannot mistake the way, 80 continues on in confidence, He knows he will not need to go groping about, if the horse be still there, as it.is ho he is: a culiarly intoned call with a whistle will bring him up from far as he can hear it. Many atime has his master, while hunting on the hills round Arispe, se summoned Crusader to his side. He has advanced more than half a mile, and is thinking whether he shall not give the signal and put an end to all uncertainty. He should now de near enough for it to be heard, and it will tell him if the animal be still there or has wandered away to some other part of the Varo. In the latter case all his labors will be lost, and no alternative left bim but return to the cliff and get hoisted up again. Still a thought holds him silent. The activity of the Indians, with their frequent patrol parties, more by night than by day, bas long been a matter of cu- riosity and speculation among the miners. What if such a party be now out and within hearing? For he knows that to his voice Crusader will ic sey with a neigh, and that might undo all. Therefore, curbing his impatience, he proceeds on, silent as a specter, his glances directed now this way, now that, endeavoring to penetrate the gloom. All at once he hears the tramp of a pores, on the instant after seeing and recognizing Cr er. To his surprise also; for the animal is not at rest or browsing, but moving excitedly about, every now and then uttering a snort, as though he scented dan- ger. His master knows he himself cannot be the cause of this unlooked-for behavior. The horse is up wind, and could not possibly be aware of his ap- proach. What then is exciting him? Wolves—coyotes? Yes, it must be that; and as a ae of its being so, Just then he hears the whining owl of the jackals simultaneously all around. Such a chorus resounding on every side seems odd, the more from its being heard for but a brief mo- ment, then silence as before. But_Henry Tresillian stays not to reflect on its oddity. He fears that the howling repeated may start Crusader into a stam- pede, and without further delay gives him that sig- nal he knows will be answered. y at red it is, and instantly by a neigh sent back in response; ard in twenty seconds after the horse stands face to face with his young master, his velvet muzzle pressing the latter's cheek, On ono side there are words o endearment, on the other a low, joyous whimpering, as though the dumb brute was trying to speak its delight at their being together again. Crusader opens his mouth to receive the bit, and seems almost to stoop for the saddle to be throwa over him, He is caparisoned in a trice; but just as Heury Tresilian, stooping to tighten the girths, gets the brckle into its hole, he hears that which CLUBS him to rise erect, and clutch at the bridle; the sound of hoofs on all sides; horses evidezitly, with pes upon their backs. Indians!—they can no other! Quick as thought he vaults into the saddle, and sets himself ready to make a dash. In what direction? He knows that which he should take for Arispe. But.is it open to him? This he cannot tell, nor, indeed, that any way is open to him. For now he hears the tramp of horses all around, and before he can regolve himself, sees the horses themselves. It has grown a little clearer, for the moon is about to rise, and Crusader’s nei,h has guided the Indians to the spot. It he stay, Henry Tresillian is conscious he will soon be encircled by a crowd with no chance to get oper of it, Already he sees its ring closing around m. But the Indians are still some fifty yards distant, come to a halt; suddenly and with shouts of sur- prise, for they have sighted him. There is even ter- ror in their accents, with awe in their hearts—awe of the supernatural. They. supposed themselves making surround of a horse, when, lo! there is a man upon his back, allin keeping with the mysteri- ous character Crusader has obtained among those who have vainly chased him , The young Englishman notes their strange be- havior, but without thought of the cause. He knows, however, they will not stay long at rest, and, hd better light, seeing a break in their line, sets his horse’s head for it, pihes the word with.touch of knee, and springs forward at full speed, determined to take his chance. In a dozen strides he is between two of the Coyo- tero horsemen, when he feels his bridle arm sud- denly drawn back and held tight to his body; then, with a quick jerk, he is lifted clean out of the sad- dle and flung with violence to the earth,
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14 Guide, The Gold-seeker Fortunately he is neither stunned nor loses con- safe off or has been captured; one way or other he seiousness, but has all his senses about him; he kmows what has happened, and that he is in the noose of alasso. But his right arm is free, and, in- stantly ining his feet, he draws his knife, and, severing the cord in twain, releases himself. It would have been to little purpose had his horse been other than he is. But the sagacious animal, is So coun ore be —— of galloping way, has stay 4 é, and in ano mo- ment has its master on its back again. With, to all appearance, a clear track before him now, the daring youth once more makes forward, favored by the confusion that has arisen among the savages, In the dim light they are unable to distin- guish the strange horseman from one of themselves, and their surprise is but increased with their super- stitlous terror, both holding them spellbound. ey but cry out, and question one another, without mak- ing any effort to pursue. ; enry Tresilian begins to think himself safe away, when he sees one of the Coyoteros, who had lagged behind their line, come full tilt toward him in et lop as himeelf, fore he can check his pace, their animals meetin violent ii rag br the mustang of the Indian is flung back on its haunches, dismount- ing ita rider, The man hashis in hand, and see- ing a pale-face instinctively raises the piece, taking aim at him, But, before he can touch trigger, the Fngllsh youth has also a piece leveled—a_ pistol, w eracks first, and the sa uttering a wild, agonized yell, staggers a pace or twe and f back- ward em the grass, With more in his way now, his youhg mas- ter again gives Crusader the word, and off go they at highest race-course speed. CHAPTER XXV. UP THE CLIFY AGAIN. Ir issome time before the Indians recover from thely mystification. Is the black horse flesh and blood, or a phantom? Not until they have closed together and taken eeansel of one another is this question resolved. The wiSer of them affirm that in some way one of the pale faces must have got down the cliff, caught the horse, and mounted him. That the rider, at least, is a mortal being they have ample evidence in éomrade stretched dead upon the plain, by a bullet. The sicht rekindles all their ire, and shouts of veug ce make the welkin ri But only for a while. Silence again reigns, and the hoof-strokes of the retreating fugitive carn be heard through the pe ha ealm of the night, stirring them to pur- suit. a yray, go they in gallop after; but not all, ncarly half ef them pt ges. their horses’ heads toward the eliff. For if the white mén have let one of their mumber down, there should be some sign of it, which they proceed to search for, Impossible to depict the feelings of those on the tho Teages all, the ones who have been standing on th es to await the result. They cannot have ves hoisted up again tillsure their messen- ger has either failed or got free, and from the mo- ment of his parting from the cliff’s base to them all has been uncertainty. Terrible suspense, too, from the very first; for although they saw not the Indians passing underneath, they heard their horses’ tread, now and then a hoof striking stone, or in dull thud upon the hard turf. ough they could not make out what it meant, they knew it was some- thing adverse—hostile. Horses would not be there wiows men on their backs, and these must be ene- m . Listening on with hearts anxiously beating, they hear that hebps ¥ concatenation of cries, the sup- posed howling of coyotes, all over the plain. It - wles them, too; but before they have time to reflect on it asound better understandable reaches their ears—the neighing of a horse—most of them recog- nizing it as Crusader’s for most are familiar with its peculiar intonation. More intently than ever do they listen now, but fora time hear nothing more, Only a brief inter- val; then arise sounds that excite their apprehen- sion to its keenest—vajces of menin conf clam- , the accent proclaiming them Indians. rt Tresillian, still standing beside the gamu- sino on the lowest ledge, feels his heart sink within him, as he exclaims: se ity r boy! lost—lost!”” - Ars sefior,” says Vicente, with an effort to ap- pear calm. “'That’s not so sure. All’s not lost that’s in danger. If there be a chance of escape your brave son’s the very one to take advantage of it. Oiga!/ what’s that?’ His goesticn has reference to another chorus of cries heard out upon the plain; then a moment’s yer succeeded by a crashing sound, as of two heavy Ly Fy Sal a ps args After that a shot, quic’ ollow y a yell—a groan. “A pistol!” exclaims the gamdusino, “and sure the one Sefiorito Henrique took with him. I'll war- rant he’s made good use of it.” The father is too full of anxious thought to make reply; he but listens on with all ears, and heart audibl pulsating, Next to hear the hoof-strokes of a horse in gallop asif going off; which in a way cheers him; it may be his son escaped. But then there is more confused clamor, with loud Gecutations. voices raised in vengeance; and after 2 ransnlee of other horses, apparently pursuit. is to be done now?—draw up the rope, and have themselves drawn up? There seems no reason for their waiting longer. messenger is either will not get back there. So cend the cliff. Besides, a thought of their own safety now forces itself upon them. A streak of light along the hori- zon admonishes them of the uprising moon. Al- ready her ae rays, reflected over the _— begin to lighten the obscurity, rendering objects more distinct, and they now make out a dark mass on the /ano below, a party of horsemen, moving in the direction of the mesa. ‘*We'd better pull up, Don Roberto,’ says the gambusino ; “they're coming this way, and if they see the rope it will guide their eyes to ourselves, and we’re both lost men. They carry guns, and we'll be within ner | range, not over thirty yards from them. Por Dios! if they sight us we’re undone."’ Don Roberto makes neither protest nor objection. By this his son has either got clear or is captured; in either case he cannot return to them. And, as his com ion, he is keenly sensible to the danger which is now threatening, so signifies assent. Silently they draw up the rope, and soon as it is allin their hands, signal to those above to hoist them also. First one, making it fast round his body, is pulled ip; then the loop is let down, and the other ascends, raised by an invisible power above. Four are now on the next ledge, aud, by like course of & ye ope are lifted one after another to that still higher, the sloping benches between _help- ing them in their ascent. All is done apace f cautiously; forthe savages are now seen below in pee clump, stationary near the foot of the pre- eipice. ey have reached the last beneh, and so far un- molested, begin to think themselves out of danger. But alas, no! The silence long prevailing is sud- denly broken by a rock disp and rolling down; while at the same moment the treacherous moon, showing over the horizon's ‘edge, reveals them to eyes of the Indians. Then there is a chorus of wild yells followed by shots—a very fusilade; bullets strike the rocks and break f: ents off while other shots fired in return by those above inte the black maas below, instantly rse it. In the midst of all the last man is drawn up te the summit. But when landed there, they who draw him up see that the rope's noose is no lon around a living body, but a corpse, bleeding, with ‘ey may as well reas- CHAPTER XXVL IMSTANCED—NO DANGER NOW. Frvprne himself clear of the Indians, Henry Tresil- lian’s heart beats high with = no mischance ree oe , he can trust Crusader keep him clear And now he turns his thoughts to the should take. But first to that in which he is going, for he has galloped out of the encircling line through the nearest opening that caught his eye. The foretaste of moonlight enables him to see where he is—luckily, on the right track. The route to Arispe lies south-eastward, and the lake must be at its upper or lower end. The former is the t route, the other a roundabout; but then there is the Indian eamp to be got past, and others of the savages may be up and about. Still the wagon cor- ral is two or three hundred yards from the water’s edge, which may give him a chance to between unobserved, and with unlimited confidence in his horse, he resolves upon risking it. An error of judgment; he has not taken into ac- count the fracas behind, with the report of his own pistol, and that all this must have been heard by the red-skins remain in camp. It has nevertheless. The consequence being that ere he has got half round the upper end of the lake he sees the plain in front of him ynr'¢ dotted with dark forms, men upon horseback, and hears them shouting to one an- other. A glance shows him it is a gantlet too dan- gerous to be run. The fleetness of his steed were no surety nst gun-shots. He reins up abruptly, and with a wrench round sets head west again, with the d to do what he should have done at first—turn the lake below. The détour will be much ter now; he has passed a elbow of it, which must be repassed to get around; but there is no alternative, «and, re- gretting his mistake, he makes along the back track at best speed. Not far before finding further reason to be«sorry for his blunder. On that side, too, he sees mounted men directly before him—those’ he had lately eluded. They are scattered all over the plain, apparently in search of him, some rid to- ward the lake’s lower end, thinking he has gone that way. But all have their eyes on him now, and place themselves in position to intercept him. His path is beset every side, the a cries of the Coyo- teros roclahuiing their confidence that they have him at last—sure te capture or kill him now. And his own heart almost fails him; go which way he will it must be through a shower of bullets. Again he reins up, and sits in his saddle unde- cided. The risk seems equal, but it must be run; there is no help for it. eel i there is. A thought has flashed across his brain—a memory. He remembers having seen the camp animals wading the lake through and Te not over belly deep. Why cannot Crusa- er? With quick resolve he sets his horse’s head for the water, and in a second or two after the animal is up to the saddle-girths, plunging lightly as if it were but fetlock deep. Another cry from the Indians on both sides—sur- prise and disappointment mingled, in tones telling of their belief in the su tural come back. But soon they, too, recall shallowness ef the lake, en ney ——— Daa —= - —- and see nothing strange in the fugitive attempting to escape acrossit. So, without loss of time, they again put their horses to speed, making to head hina on its eastern shore, They are as nearas can be to succeeding. It isa close shave for tho pursued messenger, who, om emerging from the water, sees on either flank horse- men tening toward bim. But he is not dismayed. Before any of them are within shot-range he dashes onward; er, with sinews braced by the eool bath, showing speed which insures him against all danger of being overtaken. He is pursu nevertheless. The subtle sav know there arechancesand mischances. One of the latter may arise in their favor; and, hoping it will be so, they continue the chase. The moon is now up, everything on the level Lane distinguishable for miles, and the black horse with his pale-faced rider is still less than twenty lengths ahead; so after him they go, fast as their mustangs ean be forced. Only to find that in brief time the twen have Bent me doubled, then trebled, till, in fin see that it is fruitless to carry the pursuit further. With hearts full of anger and chagrin they ge tt up. Some apprehension have they as well, Zo- pilote is not with them; and what will he say om their returning empty-handed? Whatdo? For tt iw now no mere matter of the catching of a horse; in- stead, more serious; a courier gone off to bring suc- cor to the besieged. Down-heart and dejectedly turn their horses’ heads, and ride back for Nauchampa-tepetl. Had the Coyoteros stuck to their faith in the prob- pene of accidents and continued the pursuit, a might have overtaken Henry Tresillian after For scarce have they turned backs upon him when a mishap befalls, not absolutely staying him in his course, but a him pene nog an He is making to regain the road which runs north fron passe op at the point where the caravan, foreed by want of water, had deflected from it to the Cerre Perdido. In daylight he could have ridden s to it; for since then from the mesa’s summit Vicente had pointed to guide-marks indicating the spot where his initials were carved upon the pai- milla, But in his haste now, amid the glamour of a newly-risen moon, the messenger has gone astray; only discovering it when his orse, ae ae e forward, comes down upon his knees, shoo ing. m out of the saddle, e is less hurt than surprised. Never before hae Crusader made false step or stumble, and why now’ A moment reveals the reason; the ground has given way beneath, letting him down knee-deep inte a hole, the burrow of some animal. Fortunately there are no bones broken, no dam- age done either to horse or rider; and the latter, re- covering his seat in the saddle, essays to Jy ome 4 Soon to be a second time brought to a stand, though not now unhorsed; Crusader but lurches, keeping his legs, though again near going down. The young Englishman perceives what it is; he is riding through a warren of the kind well known on the plains of Western America as ‘‘a prairie d town or village."' In the moonlight he sees the hil- locks of these marmots all around, with the ani- mals themselves squatting on them; hears their tiny squirrel-like bark, intermingling with the hoot of the quaint little owl which shares their subterranean habitations. Once more at halt, he n bethinks himself what. is best to do. Shall he ride back and go round the village, or continue on across it, taking the chances of the treacherous ground? He listens; soon to become assured that the pur- suit has been abandoned, thus giving him choice te act deliberately and do as it seems best to him. Around the dog-town may be miles, while direct to the other side only a few hundred yards. They are often of a shape, extending far, but of little breadth, possibly because of the condition of the ground, and the herbage it produces. Having ridden into it, he resolves to keepon. Bu to his great annoyance and disgust, finds it exten far beyond the limits of his pomenes; and as Cru- sader’s hoofs break through the hollow crust, it be- comes necessary to alight and lead him. At length, however, he is out of it, and again on firm und, with the level Wano far stretching be- fore him. But in the distance he discerns a low mountain ridge, trending north and south, lit up by the moon's light, along which, as he knows, lies the route to Arispe. ““We’re on the right road now, my noble Crusader, with no fear of being followed! And we must make it short as possible. The lives of many depend on that—on your speed, brave fellow! So let us on.”’ Crusader responds with one of his strangely in- our, toned whimperings—almost speech. Then stands motionle 1 his young master is in the saddle; after which he again goes off in gallop, eentre a terre. CHAPTER XXVIL IN PAINFUL SUSPENSE. Tuan the rest of that night no more anxious time has been spent by the ered miners. If their new messenger fail in errand, then they can never dispatch another. No chance for a second one to descend the cliff, or getdown the gorge, for both will be hereafter guarded more carefully than ever. All stay awake till morning, listening to every sound below, and doing what they can to interpret it. They had heard the cries near the Indian camp as Henry Tresillian attempted to pass it, those by the ravine’s head hearing them plainer. Thenother cries, as in response, proceeding from the western side of the lake.
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a After that a moment of silence succeeded by a plunging noise, as of a horse making his way through deep water. And’ soon after shouts ag for a while continuous, terminating in hoof-strokes at each instunt less distinct, at length dying away in the distance. But just then they upon the cliff had to listen to ether sounds more concerning themselycs. For it was at this time their presence became known to the party remaining behind, resulting in that hurried ascent from ledge to ledge, with the loss of one of their number. Long after, they see that which renews their ex- citewent, their thoughts in a conflict between hope and fear. From the vedette post, aroun which they have all gathered, they behold a movisig¢ mass, in the early dawn distinguishable as men.n horseback. It isthe party who went in pursuit of their messen- oll einen a But whether they have him with OF DO, Cannot be told; for they come back in @ thick clump, and he may be in its midst invisible. Nor is it opened our till they pass behind the abut- ment of rock, disappearing froma the view of those upon the snesa. By the besleged the day is passed with anxiety un- relisved, ry scege gthse harden A epee wa poms from which sight of the Indian camp could be obtained, it was yettoo dark to see whether the of pursuers had oh back a prisoner: And when daylight came he might be there without their being able to see him—inside the marquee, or under #ne of the wagons. Gradually, however, their hopes gain the ascend- ant, for no! of er can seen, and the noble steed there, could not well be hidden away. Besides, there is no more setting up of that ensanguined stake, no more firing ata human tar- get, as would likely have taken place had the pale- taced courier been their captive. Instead, a certain restlessness, with signs of apprehension, is observed among themselves throughout all the day, almost proclai his escape. In Don van'‘s tent it is discussed, and this con- clusion come to, giving joy toall. But to none as to his own daughter. ay ® prey to keen, heart- sickening anxiety, how glad is she at hearing the gambusino : ‘I'm sure the sefiorito has got safe away, and is now on the road to Arispe. Were it not so, we'd have seen him, ere this, tied to that. accursed stake and riddled with bullets, asthe others. The brutes meant doing the same with me; bad almost begun it, when, thanks to the Virgin, there came a slip be- tween the cup and the lip. And I think we may thank her now for giving a like chance to the brave lad. Santos Dios! he Geserves it.” Cheering words to Gertrude, who can scarce re- sist rushing up to the speaker and giving him a kiss for them, Chaste kiss it would be, for the gambu- sino is neither young nor handsome. She contents herself by a ng: * Oh, sir! if he gets safe to Arispe you shall be d for your saddle, ten times over. I'm gure fa- er will not grudge that.”’ . “Saddle, nintahkniissima /"’ exclaims Vicente, with a quizzical smile; ‘that’s naughtto me. I'd be glad to sacrifice a hundred such—ay, a thousand, if I eould afford it, for him you seem so interested in. His life's too precious to be weighed in the scale against all the horse-gear in the world.” All signify approval of these generous sentiments, 80 pleasing to the youth's father, who tacitly listens. And the brief dialogue over, they turn to discussin, the chances of relief reaching them, now for the firs time seeming favorable. “Tf,"’ says Don Estevan, hopeful as any, “ he meet no accident before arriving at Arispe, then we may count on receiving succor. There’s but one thing we have to fear—time! Nor need we fear that if Colonel Requenes be there with his regiment. By ill fortune he may not.” “What reason have you for thinking he may not?” a eh Nr roe , “T reca) telling me, just before we started, that there was a likelihood of his being ordered to Guaymas, to assist in es gs @ reported risi of the Yaquis Indians. he has gone thither we'l be no better off than before.” “ But the people of Arispe—surely they will not be indifferentto our situation?” It is the Englishman who interrogates. “ Ah, true,” returns the Mexican, correcting him- self, as a reassured expression comes over his coun- tenance, “They will not. I did not think of that, I see it now.” “Tis not for us and ours alone, we may expect them to bestir themselves but for their own rela- tives and friends. Think, amigo mio/ There isn’t one of our following but has left some one behind, who should rush to the rescue soon as hearing how things stand.” “You're right, Don Roberto. And, whether the soldiers be there or not, Arispe and its surroundings can surely furnish force enough to effect our deliver- ance. We must have patience—hope and pray for ii “Dear husband!" here interposes the sefiora, “you seem to forget my brother, Juliano, and his three hundred peoves. At least half of them are brave fellows, a match for any savages asthese who surround us, If Henrique succeed in reachin Arispe, he will go on to my brother's hacienda, sol- oe Sys no cig ek ae Ghd ies iis speec: m ner quarter further hightens their hopes already rapidly rising. They almost feel as if the siege was being raised, and themselves about to continue their long-delayed A like sentiment pervades the people all through The Gold-seeker Guide, thecamp. In every shed and booth isa greup con- versing on the same topic, and much ina similar way; all with trusting ce on the friends left be- hind, confident they will not fail them, At this selfsame hour the feeling in the Coyotero camp is quite the contrary; instead of confidence, there is doubt, even apprehension! The white men’s messenger— for they are sure he must have been this—has got through their lnes, clear away, and well do they comprehend the consequences. They kuow the miners come from Aris marks onthe wagons and other chattels tell them that— and are sure that the pale-face courier is now hasten- ing thither. On such a swift steed he will reach it in quick time; and, withthe tale he has to tell, alike Fey will be the response: a rescuing host in rush or Nauchampa-tepell. It may even arrive before the return of their raiders from the Horcasitas. Thus apprehensive, on the day and night follow- ing the escape of Henry Tresilian, and for many days and nights after, there is as much, if not more. Fags the camp of the besiegers'as in that of e e The tater’ fear but famine; the former fire and sword, CHAPTER XXVIII. FRIENDS IN FEAR. “Guan to see you, Sefior Don Juliano. It’s not often you honor Arispe with your presence.” Colonel Requenes is the speaker, he spoken to be- ing a gentleman of middle age, in civilian costume —the dress of a haciendado. It is Don Juliano Romero, brother of the Sefiora Villanueva, the owner of a large ganaderia or grazing estate, some six or seven out of Arispe. “True,” he admits, “ nor would you see me now, only that this thing begins to look serious.” * What thing?" asks the colonel, half divining it. “No news from Villanueva. I came to see ‘vé bad any."’ “Not a word; and you're He ia about its beginning to look serious. I was just sing of it to your son, ee baste roe came in." scbebdnad ey areina e apartment inColone oe Ys ge offici Seaanae, Wie receiving room, into which the anadero has just been ushered; the son alluded to ing there already, a youth of some sixteen sum- mers, in military uniform, with sabretasche and other insignia, ob ne cag him an aide-de-camp. After greeting his father, he has resumed his seat by a table on which are several ~ gr dispatches, with which he seems to busy himself. * Por Dios! I cannot tell what to make of it,”’ pur- sues the ganadero. **They must have reached the mine, wherever it is, long ago. Time es a for word to have been brought back. And my sister not writing to me, that's a puzzle! She promised she would soon as they got there.” ** And Villanueva himself promised he would write tome. Besides the ple, my of them, have left friends behind, relatives out in the neighborhood of the old minera. Some of them are in Arispe every day, inquiring if there be avy news of those gone paths ,5o it’s clear they’ve had no word from ther.’ “What do you suppose can be the cause, Re- enes ?"" “T’ve been trying to think. At first I fancied the great drought that’s been, with every stream and pond dried up, might have torced them out of their way for water, and so lengthened their journey. But even with that there’s been time enough for them to have reached their destination long since, and us to have heard ofit. As we haven't, I fear it’s something worse.” ‘* What's your conjecture, colonel?” “T'm almost afraid to venture on co they force themselves on me, Don Ju oe ed shape you will yourself, no doubt, re) hg R Icomprehend. Loe Indios /” ** Los Indios,” echoes the officer; ‘ just that, Vil- lanueva told me the new-discovered veta lies a lon way to the north-west, beyond the head-waters o the Horcasitas. That’s all country claimed by the Apaches of different bands; as you know, every one of them determinedly hostile to the whites, es- reir gg us Mexicans, for reasons you may have eard of." ren know all that; you allude to the affair of Gil rez?" “T do; and my fear is that our friends may have encountered some of these red-handed savages. If 80, Heaven have mercy on them, and God help them; for He only can.’ “Encountering them would mean being attacked by them?" “Surely so; and destroyed if defeated; the men butchered bas t this the young aide-de-camp turns round on his chair, his face showing an expression of pain. He says nothing, however, but continues an earnest lis- tener to the conversation. “Merciful Heaven!" exclaims the ganadero, al- most in a groan, ‘‘ I hope it has not come to that.” ‘I hope 80, too, and don’t yet think it has; only that it’s probable enough—too probable. Still, even if set upon they would resist; and. when one comes to remember how many there were of them, they ought to make a stout resistance.” “Many of them,” rejoins Don Juliano, “both the mining people and vagueros, are of - roved valor, and were wellarmed. I was at the o 4 minera when Oe, started off, and saw that for myself.” “Yes, I know; but their holding out would depend on the sort of ground they chanced to be on when attacked, if they have been attacked, By good luck, em lectures; but 0; and in be think- : the women and children carried into | | } i | ing asd | | | ae our mutue] brother-in-law is no pe to — tactics, but a soldier of experience, w know how to act in any emergency.’ oh me “True; but the worst of it is his being embarrassed by ha 80 many women and children with him; among alas, my sister and niece. Pobreci- tas iat Again the young officer shifts uneasily on his chair, the expression of pain still upen his face. For heis the cousin whom Gertrude was said to have fo ten, “They took a number of large vehicles with them?" says the colonel, interrogatively. ** Ameri- can wagons, did they not?’ “They dia.’’ “Flow many? Can you remember?’ ‘Six or seven, I think.’’ ** And a large pack train?” “Yes; the atujo seemed te number abeut four- score mules.”* For a moment the colonel is silent, seeming te re- flect, then says: “ Villanueva would know how to throw these car vos into corral, and with so many pack-saddles ought to make a defensible breastwork, to say nothing of the bales and boxes of foods, If not taken by surprise while en route, he'd be sure of using that precaution. So tected, and armed as they were, they ought to hold good their ground against sp s number of red-skins. The worst 2 would be their getting dropped on in some place without water, ee case Yap age ne would be the necessary result, surrender to Apaches were as death itself.” ‘* Santissima! yes—we all know that. But, Re quenes, do you think we've to fear their hav- met such a disaster?” ‘I don’t know what to think. I'd fain not fear it, but the looks grave, vo matter in what way one views it. ere should have been word from Ss. “T've been considering that for some time, but couldn't make up my mind, I've made it up mow." “ To Mating of squad he “To se one of my rons along the route they took; with orders to follow it up, if need be, te the new-discovered mine; at all evente, till 1t be as- certained what hinders our hearing from them.” ‘*That seems the best and only way,” returns Den Juliano, ‘ But when do you propose your men to start?" : *Immediately—soon as they can be ready. For such an expedition, most of the way through a very wilderness, they will need supplies, however lightly equipped. But I will issue the order this moment. Cecilio |" to the aide-~le-camp, “ hasten down to the cvarvel and tell Major Garcia tocome to meat once."” The ro officer, rising at the words and clap- ing on his shako, makes straight for the outer door. vt before stepping over its threshold, he sees that which causes to return instantly to the receiv- ing-room, tothe ae epee of those he had left there. ‘What is it?’ demands the colonel. “* Look there!" He 9 out through the o: window over the plaza in front of it. Springing from their seats, and moving up to it, oe see @ young man on horseback toward t @ house; his face pale, with a way worn look, his dress dust-stained, and otherwise out of order, the horse he bestrides steaming at the nostrils, froth-clouted and with po seesaw nks. * Caramia |" exclaims Colonel Requenes. ‘‘ That's young Tresillian, the son of Villanueva's partner!” CHAPTER XXIX. TO THE RESCUE. For an instant after Henry Tresillian is inside the room, warmly welcomed by both colonel, and gana- dero, less so by the young officer, though the two een formerly bosom friends; the coolness of Cecilio Romero can easily be understood, but in the scene which succeeds with hasty questioning, and answers, alike hurried, no one takes note of it. “You bring news— news, I fear,’ says the colonel. ‘Bad, yes; I’m sorry having to say so,” returns the messenger. ‘“ Thisis for you, sefor, from Dou Estevan; ‘twill tell you all.” He pulls a folded naper from under his jacket, and hands it to the colonel. Breaking it open the latter reads it aloud, Romero standing by and listening, for its contents concern them all, : ; Thus it runs: “ Hermano mio (brother): “If Heaven permit this to reach your hands, ’twill peril I he Indians, the oteros. Where, advancin tell you how we are situated; in extreme grieve to say, surrounded by A most hostile and cruel of all, the © and how I need not ify. The brave boy, who bears this, if successful in putting it into your hands, will give you all details, When you've got them, } know how you willact, and that no appealfrom me is aspen os On you alone depends our safety, our lives, Without your help we are lost. “Estevan VILLANUVEVA,” ‘They shall not be lost,” cries the colonel, tly agitated. ‘* Not one of them, if the Zacatecas won can save them. Igo to theiraid; we'll start at once. Away! Cecilio, down to the guvartd ; bring Major Garcia back with you immediately, Now senorito,” he adds, turning to Henry Tresilian, “the details! Tell us all. But, first, where are our friends in such peril?—in what place are they surrounded?” “Tn a place strange enough, sefor eolonel,” an-
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16 ‘One standing alone on the Ilanos, out of sight of any other; "tis as the Cerro perdido,” ** Ah, I've heard of it.”’ be a says the ganadero. “* Up somewhere near the sources of the Horcasi- tas, a singular eminence—a mesa, I believe. But how came they to go there? It must be some ways off the route to their destination.” ‘“*We were forced thither, seiior, through want of water, The guide advised it, and his advice would have been for the best but for the ill-luck of the — coming that way.” * Muchacho, I won't confuse you with further ques- tioning, but leave you to tell your tale. We listen. First, have @ capita of Cat: brandy to refresh you; you seem in need of it." “‘There’s one needs refreshing as much as myself, sefior colonel, and more deserves it.” ** What one, who?”’ om horse out there; but for him I would not be “Ah! that's grand steed. I remember him— Crusader—he does seem to need it, and shall have it. eres this in loud call to an orderly sergeant in waiting outside who instantly showing his face at the door receives command to see the black horse attended to. Mens muchacho —_ proceed.” a , enry still spe: urriedly for rea- sons comprehensible, runs over all that hasoccurred to the caravan, since its re gree from the worked- out mine near Arespe, its arrival at the Lost Mountain. Then the unex appearance of the 1 resulting in the retreat to the sumunit of the cerro, with the other incidents and events succeed- ing, to a the latest, of himself being lowered down the , and after escaping through the fleet- ness of his matchless steed. ‘*How many of the Indians are there?”’ asks the colonel, “Can you tell that, sefiorito?” * Between four and five hundred we sup but Sg rig not all there when I left. Some days before f their number went off on a marauding expedition; so our guide believed, as they were dressed and painted as when on the war-trail."’ “They not returned when you came away?”’ “ + oar colonel, me sign “* em.”’ ae “T see now, and pity the poor people who live on the lower Horcasitas. That's where they were bent for, no doubt. The more reason for our making haste to reach the Cerro Perdido; we may catch these raiders on return, Sarjento !’ thus again in call to the orderly, who responds, instantly presenting himself at the doorway. “Summon the bugier. Give him orders to sound the assembly at once. ® must start without a moment’s.delay. How fortunate those Yaquis kept quiet; else I would be now operating about Guay- mas, “We must, Requenes, but will your regiment be enough? How many men can you muster?" ** Five hundred; but there's the battery of moun- = howitzers, fifty men more; of course I take that n: Did a of: course I go, too,”’ says the ganadero ; “and to make sureof our having force sufficient, can take with me at least a hundred good men, the pick of my vagueros, Fortunately they're now all within easy summons—assembled at my house for the harradero (cattle-branding), which was to come off to-morrow; that can be postponed. Hasta luego, colonel, I ride back home to bring them. So doubt not my having them here, ready for the route, soon as your soldiers.” “ Bueno; whether needed or not, *twould be well to have your valiant vugueros with us. I will wel- come them.”’ Instantly after the plaza of Arispe displayed an animated scene; people crowding into it from all parts, with air excited; for the report brought b the young Englishman had ne forth and abroad, spreading like wildfire. Villanueva and Tresillian, with all their people, surrounded by the sav : “Los Indios!" was the cry carried from = to point, striking terror into the hearts of the Aris- fos, as though the drefded red-skins, instead of Vaing at an unknown distance off, were at their gates. Then succeeded loud cheering, as the bugle call proclaimed the approach of the /anzeros, troop after troop filing into the plaza, and forming ‘line in front of their colonel’s quarters. All in complete equip- ment and ready for the route. More cheering as Don Juliano Romero came rid- ing in at the head of his hundred retainers, vuqueros and rancheros in the pictu ue costume of the country, armed to the teeth and on mustangs, fresh, fiery, and prancing. Still another cheer as the battery of mountain howitzers rolled in, and took its place in the line; then a loud chorus of voices as the march com- men prolonged and carried on, as the column moved through the streets; the crowd following far beyond the suburbs, to take leave of it with a prayer upon their lips for a successful issue of an ition in which many of them are but too pain- fully interested. CHAPTER XXX. THER RAIDERS’ RETURN. Anorner ten days have elapsed, and they on the Cerro Perdido are held there rigorously as ever; a strong guard kept constantly stationed at both points where it is possible for them to reach the plain, In the interval no incident of any note has arisen to vesr (be pronercey a their lives, one day just as the other with little to occupy them, save the watch by the ravine’s head, which needs keeping with vigi- lance—unabated. But much change has arisen in their circum- stances, and appearance; with provisions well-nigh out, they have been for days on less than half allow- ance, and famine has set its stamp on theirfeatures. Pallid, hollow cheeks, with eyes sunk in their sock- ets, are seen all around, and some of the weaker ones begin to totter in their ey till the place more resembles the grounds of a hospital than an encampment of travelers.. They have miscalculated their vn ag rte which have given out sooner than scted. this lamentable condition they are still uncer- tain as to the fate of their messenger; their doubts about his safety increasing every day—every hour, Not that they suppose him to have fallen into the hands of the Coyoteros; on the contrary they are convinced of his having escaped them; else some signs of his capture would have been apparent in the Indian camp, and none have been seen. But other contingencies may have arisen, an accident to himself or his horse delaying him on the route, if not stopping him altogether. Or may it be, as Don Estevan has said, that Colo- nel Requenes, with his soldiers, is absent from Arispe, and there is a difficulty in raising a force of civilians sufficient for effecting their rescue? These conjectures, with many others, pass through their minds, all ending in despondency, now at its darkest and deepest, For at first in their impa- tience, blind to probabilities, they fancied theirs a wipged messenger—a Mercury, who should have brought them succor long since. That brightdream is past, and the reaction has set in, gloomy as the shadow of death itself. Nor seems there to be much cheer in the camp of their besiegers. They can look down upon it from a distance, near enough to distinguish the individual forms of the savages, and note their actions in the open, Through the telescope can be even read the expression of their features, showing that they, too, have their anxieties and apprehensions, no doubt from the black horse and his rider having got away from them. Their scouts are still seen to come and go. Some sent northward, others to the south; the last evi- dently to look out for the return of the raiding party gone down the Horcasitas. Another day S, and they are seen coming back at a pace which betokens their b: inging a report of an important nature. That it isa welcome one to their comrades in the camp can be told by their shouts in tones of triumph. Soon after they upon the mesa are made aware of the cause, by seeing the red marauders coming on toward the camp in array, very different from that they were in when leaving it. Instead of only their arms and light equipments, every man of them is now laden with spoils, every horse, besides his rider, carezing a load either on withers or croup, and they have other horses besides their own, a caballuda of mules too, all under pack and burden, No, not all. As the long, straggling line draws closer to the cerro, they on its summit see a number of these animals bearing on their back something more than the loot of plundered houses; wo:nen soem, most of them appearing to be young r As they are conducted on to the camp, and inside its inclosure, Don Estevan, viewiug them through his Moyes gt sees upon their persons, as on their features, he signs and lines proclaiming utter despair—dresses torn, hair hanging disheveled, and eyes cast down, with not a ray or spark of hope visi- ble in them. Others look through the glass, to be pained by the heart-saddening spectacle; each of tlhe married ones, as he views it, t inking of his own wife or daughter, in fear their fate may be the same, a fate too horrid f much plunder uired, many prisoners taken, and pale-faced foes slain, almost to a glut of ven- geance. They are greatly jubilant, and yield them- selves to a very pean of rejoicing; the boasting and aa * ag cries reverberating at intervals through the cliffs. F It is another night of carousal with them, as that when they first sat down to the siege, for am_ng the proceeds of their recent maraud are several pig- skins of aguardiente, and this fiery By cio freely dis- tributed, excites them almost to madness. So loud are their cries, so angrily, vengefully in- toned, that they who listen above in to fear they may at length become restless, and coute-que-coule risk the assault so long unattempted. In such numbers, now—nigh five hundred—feeling their strength, they may hold a little loss lightly. ying \y¥ is & a oT tatee Sons the ae of pe. may urther ng them to a despe- rate deed, which if not done at once, must be left undone, and the siege ingloriously abandoned. These are but the conjectures of the besieged, who, acting upon them, keep watch throughout the remainder of the night—never more wakeful. But, seemingly never less needed; for, up to the hour o dawn, no assailant is seen approaching the gorse. no sound heard of any one attempting to climb that steep acclivity. Of those fearing that they will try, Pedro Vicente ee ED is not among the number; endeavoring to give confi- dence to his doubting aoe moe he says: “I know the Coyoiteros well to suppose then such fools; not all the aguardéente in Sonora will make them mad enough to ex themselves to this our battery of stones; they don’t forget our hay- ing it here, and that we are watching their every movement, ready to rain a storm of rocks on them, if they but come under its range, So, cama- radas, keep up heart and courage; we've nothing more to fear to-day than we'd yesterday, and that’s hunger, not their spears and scalping-knives.” Fortified the gambusino's wo they to whom they are addr feel their confidence ces | enough to inspire them with further patience endurance, CHAPTER XXXI. THE RESCUERS EN ROUTE, ** So that's the Lost Mountain! Is it?” “It is, colonel.” *“ Gracias a Dios ! glad we've sighted it at last. How far do you think we're from it, sedorito? Nigh twenty miles I take it, though it looks nearer.” “**Tis all twenty miles, senor. So our guide said when we saw it from here.” ‘‘Iean quite believe it; on these high plains dis- tances are very deceptive, but my experience en- ables me to judge pretty correctly.” The dialogue is between Colonel and Henry Tresillian; the latter acting as guide to the supeliitont envoule to release those imprisoned en the Cervo Perdide. Others are beside them, Don Juliano with his son, the young aide-de-camp, and other officers of the staff; their escort form ay Bs advanced guard; not far behind it the howitzer bat- tery followed the lancer regiment in open cerder; then Romero'sirregulars closed by a troop of hnecers completing the column. thare at halt, brought to it soon as the eerre is sighted. They have been on march from an early hour by moonlight, and as the sun now rising has lit up the plain afar, the solitary eminence ean be clearly seen. As may be deduced from the youn Englishman's words, the point they have arrived a being the same place as where the caravan had temporarily come to a stop—the very spot, for close by is the tree bearing the initials of the gamus:no, ** Well, caballeros,”* continues the colonel, “ we've done our best so far. Pray God to good purpose, Let us hope we're in time. I wonder how it ist What’s your thought, Romero?” *‘T have none, Requenes, only hopes that they*ve held out.” “I wish,” pursues the colonel, in half. 2 “we but knew for certain; ’twould make an im- rtant difference as to how I should dispose of my orce, mane thee: y be still es agen mii ‘Sefior colonel,” pntenpones e yout gett “if you'll let me have a look through your glass, = 1 I Fon pls A point.” ding off Sisitins 8S, as he sees the comman omicer - ing his field-glass from its case. ‘In welcome, senorito,”’ and he hands him the telescope, Instanuy it is brought to his eye—and , his fingers trembling as they hold it. What he 23 to see will tell him that his father and friends still live; if he see it not, he will know that they are dead, perhaps, she dearer than all co: toa worse fate. What a ch#nge comes over his countenance al- most on the moment of his raising the to his eye. Hitherto grave to apprehension, at once it lights up joyously, as from his lips the words: “They're still on the mountain, Heaven be praised !"’ “If it be so, Heaven deserves it. But how know you, sefiorito?”’ “ har y’* “ at flag ” “Take the glass, colonel—look for yourself.” Requenes taking back the telescope, and ad}rst- ing it tohis sight, levels it at the Lost Mountain. ‘At the nearest end, on the summit," pursnes Henry Tresillian, instructingly, “you'll see it. 1t is the of Mexico; Don Estevan intended to raise it over his new mine. He had it hoisted yonder iu the hope it might be seen by some white men, and lead to our situation being made known; and it has roved of service, telling us our friends are still in ee of the living, fr they were not it wouldn't ere. “You're right, sefiorito, it wouldn't; and ft is there, I see it! Yes; and can make out the na- tional insignia—the Fagle and Nopal .We may thank Heaven, indeed.”’ **And we do!” exclaims tho gana/ero, raistng his hat reverently, all around following his ag e, A thrill of exultation runs like wildfire backward on tothe extremest rear—a joyous exvitement as the soldiers learn that they have not made their long march in vain, and that the foe is before them, not far off; for the banner towering above pro- claims the siege still continuing and the Indians Kegping it. “They are there,”’ affirms the colonel, after gazing some time through his gluss, “I can see the smokes ascending from their camp-iires. No doubt by this they'll be cooking their breakfasts, Well we won't be in time to hinder their having that meal, but if they eat dinner this day without my leave I shall be willing to throw up my commission as colonel of the Zacatecas lancers. Now, gentle- men,” he adds, turning to his staff, and summoning his ehbief officers around him in council of war. “The enemy is yonder, no doubt of it; ‘tis a ques- tion as to how weshould advance upon him. Give your opinion, Major Garcia.” ‘‘How many are there supposed to be, colonel?”
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ee teeta asks the major, a sage, grizzled veteran. “Our mode of approaching them should much depend upon that. “Unluckily I can’t tell,” says the commander-in- chief. ‘There were nigh five hundred, all told, when ther, but, it appears that half went off on a@ raid down the Horcasitas, the other half re- maining to carry out the siege; if the raiders have return and are now among the besiegers, then we’il have their full force to deal with, and may ex- pect a sharp fight forit. I know these red-skins of old, the band of the Rattlesnake, though as our young friend informs me that worthy has ceased to exist, and the Vulture reigns in his stead. All the worse for us, as Zopilote was the master of Cascabel in tactics, cunning, courage, everything. |Never mind, we should only be too glad to meet this re- nowned warrior for glory’s sake alone.” While the colonel is still speaking a noise is heard to rearward; exclamations that tell of excitement there. Immediately afterward a subaltern officer of the rear guard advances rapidly to the front, conducting a strange horseman, whose dress, travel- stained with the sweat and dust of his horse, be- tokens him just arrived from a journey long and hurriedly made. A messenger on some errand, which pie Bey woebegone face bespeaks to be of the sad- “Whence come you, amigo?” demands the com- manding officer as the stranger is brought face to face with him. , ‘From Nacomori on the Horcasitas, sefior col- onel,” is the answer. “On what business?’’ ehorusing it. **Oh, sefior colonel! the Indians have been there; killed seores of our people, children as wh men, plundered and burned our houses, carried off all our young women, made rack and ruin of every- thing. Irode to Arispe hoping to find you there, but you were gone, 60 I’ve hastened hither after you asks Requenes, almost ** What Indians! where did they come from?”’ “From the north, sefior, down the river. Apaches we thought them, but it was in the night they did their massacre, and no one could be sure. When morning came they had gone off with every- Ore. _ t night; how long since it occurred?” “ The night of dunes, just four days ago.” “The raiding eye | of Coyoteros, gentlemen,” rays the colonel, to his surrounding. ‘The time corresponds, the place, everything. And. likely they’ve got back and are by the cerro yonder. If 80 we have others to rescue besides our own friends, with chastisement to inflict on the red-handed marauders, to say nothing of revenge. So much more reason for our not | time. Major, order the regiment to close up and form line. Let the Ponca drawn in also, I want to say a word to 16m. With a quickness due to thorough discipline the lancers are pokes th into battle line, not for fight now, but to receive an address. Thrown forward on one flank, and facing inward, are the light artil- lerists, while on the other in file form are Romero's irregulars. Placing himself in a position to be heard by all, the commander-in-chief cries out: * Camaradas, at the base of yonder hill, where you Kee the smoke rising, is the enémy—Apaches—Coy- oteros as we know, knowing them also to be the cruelest of the savages that infest our frontier. To ray nothing of the glory gained in een pects | them, *twill be doing humanity a service to destroy them, and never more than now has there been reason. This. gentleman,” he points to the newly arrived messenger still on horseback, and near by, ‘‘ has brought news of a bloodthirsty massacre they have just committed at Nacomori omthe Horcasitas, with women, scores of them, taken captive. Like enough they're all over yonder now, and we may be in time to release these prisoners and avenge the murders that have been. done. The only fear is of the Indians getting away. Mounted on.their swift mustangs and leaving all incumbrances behind, that is still possible enough. But to prevent this 1 intend dividing our force, and sending Gétachrienté arocns to intercept and cut off their retreat upon ‘every route they may take. We must deal them a death- blow. And Tnow call on you, camaradag, every man to do his best. Remember how many of our people, perhaps many of Ag own relatives, have fallen victims to the ferocity of these ruthless marauders, Thinkof the crime we have just heard of from Naco- mori. Think of it, and strik@ home.” : An enthusiastic cheer hails the colonel’s. speech, and while it is still ringing, commands are issued for the disposition of the advance, the movement soon after commencing. CHAPTER XXXII. SUCCOR IN SIGHT, Not an hour of daylight es—scarce a minute, without Don Estevan or Robert Tresillian having the telescope to their eye, scanning the» plain south- ward, For days this has been their practice, upto that on which the red marauders are seen returning from their murderous expedition, And on the following morning at earliest dawn the two, Pedro Vicente along with them, take their stand on an outward projection of the. mesa. which commands a view of the Uano all around its southern side, at the same time overlooking the Coyotero camp. They have not been long there when, under the first rays of the rising sun, they see something sparkle, never observed by them before, It is to the south-eastward, in a place with which they are familiar, the same where they first sighted the Cerro Pe, didu. Nor is the glancing object a single one, | | | ee pa The Gold-seeker Guide, They are visible to the naked eye, for as none have looked through the telescope, and as Don Es- tevan is leveling it the gambusino says: **Looks like t: litter of arms and accouterments, Pray the Virgin it be that.” “Tt is that!” cries Don Estevan, at the first glance through the glass. ‘‘ Arms, and in the hands of men. I can make out a body of horse in uniform— soldiers—Requenes and his regiment—he to a cer- tainty. At length and at last we may ros to be re, and our long improvement brought to an en ” . His words, spoken excitedly and aloud, attract those who are sauntering near, and soon most upon the mesa come clustering around him to see with eyes unaided that metallic sheen, as they eagerly hearken to its interpretation. Don Estevan, with the telescope still to his eyes, goes on speaking: ‘Yes; ‘tis they; I can see they carry lances by the sun glinting on the blades above their heads. They can be no other than the Zacatecas regiment with my brother-in-law at its head. Your son, Tre- sillian, is safe. Their being yonder tells of his having reached Arispe. Brave youth, we all owe him our blessing.”’ “And we give him that with our gratitude,” shouts Pedro Vicente, two-score voices enthusiasti- -_ echoing his words. There is a momentary lull, all ears intently listen- ing for what Don Estevan mer next say, which is: ““They appear to be extending line, and look asif there were good six or seven hundred. Ah! NowI note there are others besides the lancers, a battery of brass guns, that’s what's flashin abody of horsemen not in uniform. They appear to be at halt—why, and for what?” ‘Like enough,” epee Tresillian, ‘‘ they've made out our flag, te ing them we are still here. Requenes, with others of his officers, will have tele- scopes too, and must see it, as also that smoke over the Coyoteros' camp. I[t will tell them our besiegers are still below. That would make them halt to con- cert measures for the attack.” * You're right, Don Roberto, it must be as you say. But now there isa movement among them; the mass is breaking .. into detachments. Some commencing march to the right, others to the left. I see it all now, they mean making a surround, cut- ting off the. retreat of the besiegers. Caramia, Re- eeeogs isa cunning strategist, as I always believed im.”’ With the glass still at his eye, the old soldier can se6 every movement made, comprehending all, and explaining them in succession to the audience around him... A party of lancers—seemingly a squad- ron—separating from the main body, move off to the right, another party of like strength proceeding in the opposite direction. The other detachments fol- low these, as if toform an enfilading line when the time comes for it. But the central force remains stationary long after its flanking parties have been extended, and is only seen to advance when they are far away in the wide circuit designed to embrace the Coyoteros’ camp, and, if n be, the cervo itself. Then they come on till all upon the mesa, without any artificial aid, can see that they are white men, and as such surely friends hastening to their rescue. To their joy they also perceive that the occupants of the Indian camp are, as yet, unaware of what is ap- proaching. Five hundred feet below, their view more limited, and long before the soldiers are visible to them, they above them distinctly comprehend their whole strategic scheme. Meanwhile, the strangers are not acting in the or- dipary way; sigus of commotion are observable among them, as if some change were intended. Horses are being caught up, and caparisoned, while the newly acquired animals are again loaded’ with the spoils, those that carried the captives being also made ready for the road, These are themselves seen within the corral, as on the evening before, looking forlorn, every one of them a picture of de- spair. ‘They are to be taken they know not whither, but. to a place from which they have no hope of re- turn. Little dream they that rescue is so near. “What a pity we can't let them know of relief be- ing athand!’’ says Don Estevan. ‘They could hear us if we called to them, but.some) of the Coyoteros are acquainted with dur language, and it would warn them also.”* “No fear of that,’’ affirms the gambusino, ‘TI think I can speak a tongue that the red-skins won't understand, and the women will.” ‘* What tongue?” asks Don Estevan. “The Opata. Some of those girls are mestizas, and should know the lingo of their mothers.” “Try it, then, Don Pedro,” “With your worship’s leave, I will.’ Saying which, thegamiusino, with all his strength of lungs, gives utterance to some words altogether uninteliigible to those around him. But evidently understood by the captives below. Several of them on hearing spring suddenly to their feet, looking up in the direction whence it came, surprised at seeing men above, hitherto unobseryed.by them, and still more at hear- ing speech addressed to themselves, Hope and joy becomé mingled with their astonishment, when the gam)usine goes on to tell them how it is, and that succor is.so.near, Though listening all, not oné of the Apaches ap- pears to comprehend a word of what Vicente has said; they suppose it a mere expression of 8 thy, and, without giving heed: to it, p with their preparations for departure. They are wet bent upon this; ey it may be but the raiders to continue on to their home back the sun, and ° 17 And there is a fear which forces them to forego it Ever since Henry Tresillian escaped them have they been nervously apprehensive, correctly surmising him a messenger, who must long since have reached Arispe, and may, at any moment, reappear. guiding back a force sufficient to overwhelm them. When as yet unrecovered from their night’s ca- rousal it is as the fulfillment of a dream, their worst apprehensions realized, as they behold coming to- ward them, though still far off, a body of horsemen. uniformed, and in serried array, with pennoned lances borne aloft. The sight is not so much a surprise, neither does it produce a panic; for'they approaching seem not in such numbers as to overcome them, the detached parties sent around are not within their view, and with their habitual conternpt for the Mexican so/¢ia- dos, they make light of those now in sight, imagin- ing them undera mistake advancing,»on an enemy whose strength they have underrated. The error is their own; but, misled by it, they re- solve to ride out and meet the pale-faced foemen; anticipating theirattack. Their chief so commands it. Quick as thought every warrior is upon his horse, nor spéar in hand; they, too, in military forma- ion, battle line pressing forward to the encounter, the sentries alone left on their post. CHAPTER XXXII. THE THUNDER+GuUNS! As is their custom the savages advance with loud cries, and gestures of menace, intended to terrify their antagonists, They have got several miles out from the moun tain, and are almost within : distance, when they see that which brings them to a su¢den halt, & thing above all others dreaded by the American abo- rigine, cannon—thunder-guns as they call them, The brass howitzers, hitherto screened the vanguard of cavalry, have been thrown to the front, instantly unlimbered and so brought under their eyes. Them a flash—a vomiting of flame and smoke, a loud ring- ing report, followed by the-hurtling of,a shell eurving flight through the air. It bursts in their midst, and instantly explodes, its severed fragments dealing death around, Too much this for Coyotero courage, and without waiting for other like destructive missiles to follow, they turn tail, and: gallop back toward the camp, not that they have any hope of safety there, for they believe the great thunder-guns can reach them anywhere, and their flight toward it is but the im- pulse of confused fear. P The sentries, seeing them in retreat, alike fright- ened by the reports of the howitzers, forsake their sts, each hastening toward a horse—his own; and or a time the captive women are unguarded—seem- ingly forgotten. t gives the Magee es a cue, who, acting upon it, again cries out in the Opata tongue: “Sisters! now's your time. p and out of the corral. Make round to the lake as fast as you eun run, and up into theravine, There you'll find friends. to meet you.” Listening to his counsel, as one the captive wo- men resolve to act upon it, for they are now cogui- zant of what is going on, and fully comprehend the situation. The result, a rush out of the inclosure all together, and a race round to the spot indicated by that friendly voice above, unknown to them. They réach it, to'find there the man himself, with over two-score comrades around him, For the gam- busine, seeing bow things ‘stand, and that the be- siegers have their hands full'elsewhere, has® hurried down the gorge, all the fighting-men of the miner's party along with him. It is buta moment to place the escaped captives ‘behind rocks and bowlders, thiek all around; there, screened by the same, they await the coming on of the savages, but these come not; enough’ have they to do looking after their own safety. “The thunder- guns now near are belching forth their bombs, that burst here and there, dealing destruction. Withthe Coyoteros it is no longer a question of resistance or fight, but flight-—sauve qui peut ; and without thought of taking along with them either spoils or captives—enough if they can but save'their own lives. . They are all on horseback now, their chief at their head, whoin loud tones calls upon ‘them to follow him; not-to charge but in retreat, First they flee northward, and short is their ride in that direction, Scarce have they commenced it when they see in front of them a body of horse seeming numerous as that they are retreating from. Shall they meet it or turn back? The thunder- guns are still more than a mile‘from the abandoned camp, and they will have time to repass it. Promptly deciding to do so, they wheel round and gallop back ventre d terre. Not slowing pace or draw ae he till they have reached the western elbow of e lake. Then only coming to’ stop par , at sight of still another es of Pale-tecea, hein to confront them; intercepted, threatened on every side, by a far superior force, the savages now Ne in a trap.
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18 The Gold-seeker Guide, ae Panic-stricken, they would surrender and cry quar- ter, but well know they it would not be given. So as wolves brought to bay, they determine on fight- ing to the last—to the death. ‘or many of them death itis. Beset on all sides, in the mi of a circle of fire, bombs exploding, and bullets raining through their ranks, they make but despairing resistance, which ends in half their number being killed, the other half made —— The rescuers are now in possession of the camp, animals, everything. But the first to reach the bot- tom of the ravine is he who guided them thither, Henry Tresillian; there to receive a shower of thanks and blessings. His father pressing him to his bosom, that alike beats with joy and pride. And the gainbusino embraces him, too, crying out: “‘Isee you've brought back my saddle, sefiorito, and after the service it has done, [hope you'll never consent to part withit. Bridle and saddle both, I make you a present of them; which I trust you'll do me the honor to accept.” This draws the attention of all upon Crusader, standing by, who in turn becomes the recipient of an ovation. But his young master stays not to witnegs It; —_ the summit is one who occupies all his thoughts, claimins him now. And up he bounds with ter heart than he ever before made that ascent. “*Henrique!|—Gertrude!"’ are the exchanged ex- clamations, as the thful lovers come together to be locked in each other's arms, their lips meeting in @ kiss of rapturous joy. All eongratulations over and the wagons once more in the hands of their owners; scarce any dam- age has been done to the mining machinery and tools. The Indians, from neglect or ant of their uses, not having thought it worth their while to destroy them, for the animals and chattels carried off there ig ample compensation in their own now taken from them. Hnough of these to furnish the wagons with fresh teams and retstablish the pack train; in short put the caravan in order for resuming the march, which it does after a couple of days spent in getting things into condition for route, continuing on te its original destination, the gambusine still with it as guide. Peo bayer same Ae starts out ap meget Rapa, t yotero prisoners along wit him; while m Juliano and his valiant vraqueroe charge themselves with the task of restoring the women of Nacomori to their homes. Ay gagiemetiese meng bor syed Lost Mountain left to tranquillity and solitude, it is for days the scene of @ 5 C) of the terrible strife which late reigned there. wolves and have gathered from afar, and over the bodies of the slain savages left unburied, with those of the horses killed along with them, revel, tearing and wrTherotes are thes black vultures, some in the air, some on the ground in flocks so thick as to.darken both earth and sky. They have anticipated a feast —they. have not been disappointed. CHAPTER XXXIV. AT THE ALTAR! the Pacscrat cl te but Lome years before grew a thick ¢ rra yucca, and other plants c y of desert vegeta- tion; for Santa Gertrudes is in the heart of the desert, remote from any civi settle ment lta sperity, however, has attracted settlers, forn Rte does the population of the village itself receire constant increase, but many fertile tracts in the ceantry around have been taken up, and are oc- and agricultur- Ma rapid, almost un ae 'e. Froin the first _ opening of the mine every vein worked has proved a bovenea, enriching the owners, Don Estevan Vil- lannerva and Robert Tresillian, for it is the veta dis- covered, denounced, and made over to them by The gold-seeker himself has also become rich by the eonditions already mentioned as attached to the conveyance of the property. In short all concerned ~e poe § with live aeliceanel seabed party ves on gumuuiit of the Oerro Perdido. In aad around Santa Gertrudes—name given— bestowed in honor of Sefiora Villanueva, and her daughter, or rather their patroness salnt—is every evidence of advancement. The cottages of the miners trim and clean, the shops that supply them sho an abundance of pmo 2 even to of dure adornment. A uty anita, with re and , Stands central by the side of the public og pee or, aS in all Spanish American towns—it 5 Two sides of the same are occupied by houses of superior p with their ornamental grounds; the respective residences of Don Estevan and his English partner; while bere and there a house, larger ard better than the common, denotes the diwel ing of an official of the minera—head of a de- partme’ gettlers from the couutry around, eut in -nt. As alread anid, tpeoiinge Bale holiday. Its | pom lg of le; chy mena by their gala and indies: with them rancheros, the new | their picturesque costumes. Soldiers too mix with the crowd in the gay uniform of the Zacatecas lancers. For Colonel Requenes and his regiment on return from an expedition to the northern frontier, have halted at the puebliia, and are encamped on the plain outside. The tall chimneys of the minera send forth no smoke, no sound proceeds from the crushing-sheds,or the smelting-bouses, and work sus- pended, all is silent as if it were a Sunday- Different with the capello, from whose belfry comes a continual clanging of bells—merry bells— marriage-bells. Nor neecs any one telling who are about to be wedded. All know that the owners are about to enter into a relationship different from that of mere commercial partnership. That Ger- trudes Villanueva is’ about to: become the wife of Henry Tresillian. The hour for the happy union has at length ar- rived, and from the two grand houses on the plaza issue the bride and bridegroom, each with their train of attendants, and take their way to the cts amid the enthusiastic plaudits of the assembled arb who cry out: “Vira la novia nda!—Vira d novio valiente! nucetro salvador |" (Long live the beautiful bride! Long livs the gallant bridegroom, our savior!) Inside the church the ceremony proceeds, rela- tives and friends from afar assisting at it. fuene, them Don Juliano Romero, and of course Colo Requenes, but there is one present who not onl disapproves of the marriage but would forbid it, if it were only in his power; thisthe young cornet of lanocers, Colonel Requenes's aide-dée-camp, now @ cap- tain, who stands among the tors, with an ex- ression upon his face t of a heart torn with y. Senuheone Gils Seligthe doged: aod guemn in toot us with delight; joyed a prou 6 to sree aa 4 of the chase attain the desire of his — t e a nm returns to the house of the bride's father, followed by the crowd again vocif : * Viva la novia inda !— Viva e novio valienie | ae plain ike the puchistontorrer af oonas- 6 grassy ou C) fa—correr @ (running the cock)}—colear e tero—{tailing the bull) —with other feats of equitation ia which Crusader ridden by the ino carries the day in speed, outstepping every horse on the ground. © lancer band making musi* in ae and over an improvised pavilion ornamented with evergreens, in which s' the chief s ore waves the na- tional flag, the same which three years before was ar tee ene ene 6 LOST MOUN- Half-Dime Singer's Library 5 I'un Srarme You Wrrn a 6 Grores THe CHARMER and 56 other Songs. 7? Tue Betis ov Rockaway and & other pe 60 o s. Say Youne Gra and 6 other Songs. I'« THs Governor's On.y Son and 58 other Songs. My Fan and 6 other roy Comm Tro’ THE Rr 5& other Songs. ‘8 ROLLICKING and 59 other Songs. Oup Doa Tray and & other So Waoa, Cuaruis and 59 other eye In TH1s WuHgaT By axp By and & other Bongs. and 57 others. 19 Tae Two Ornpmaxs and S other Songs. 20 Wear ang tee Witp Waves Sarria, Srerer! and 50 other Songs. 21 Inpiewant Potty Woe and 59 other Songs. 22 Tux Ovp Anm-Cuarm and 58 other Bongs. 23 Ow Coney Istanp Beason and 58 other Songs. 24 Op Simon, THE Hor-Conn Max and 60 others. 25 Iw uv Lovs and 56 other Songs. 26 PARADE oF THE Guanps and 56 other Bongs. 27 Yo, Hzave, Ho! and 60 other Songs. % "TwitL Never po ro Gre rt cr So and 60 others. 2 Buoz Bonners Oven rae Bonpsr and 54 others, 80 Tam Meray I.uvonme Man and 56 other Songs. 31 Sweer Foroxt-ma-Nort and % other Songs. 32 Lzeria Bapy Movs and 58 other Songs. 33 De Bawyo aM pe Leernowarr ron Ma and 58 others. M Tarrr and W other Songs. 85 Josr ro PLeass THE Boys and 52 other Songs. 36 SKATING on Ona Ox THE Gurren and 52 others. 37 Kotorep Kranxs and 8 other Songs. 388 Nu Desprranpom and 58 other Songs. 39 Tue Great I Lerr Beuryp Me and 50 other Songs. 40 "Tis pur A Lirtie Fapep Fiowsr and 80 others. 41 Prerry Waer.LeEeLamma and 60 other Songs. 42 Dancrxa In THR Barn and 63 other Songs. 43 H. M.S. Prearonz, compters, and 17 other Songs. Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent post-pcid, to address, on re celpt o: Stee cents per number. oe BEADLE AND ADAMS, Fontes, 98 Wit. Srranr, New Youx, AOMORI a BEADLE & ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS. Speakers. BEADLE AND ADAMS have now on their lists the fo) lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared expressly for schools, families, etc. Each volume contains 100 large es, printed from clear, open type, comprising the collection of Dia- logues, Dramas and tations, (burlesque, comie and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the seasom of 1881—as far as now issued —embrace twenty-three volumes, viz.: 1. American Speaker. 18, School Speaker. 2. National Speaker. 14. Jadicrous Speaker. 3% Patriotic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speuker. 4. Comic Speaker. 16. Youth’s Speaker. 5. Elocutionist. 17. Eloquent cer. 6. Humorous Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak- 7. Standard Speaker. er. 8. Stump Breaker. 19. Berio-Comic Speaker. 9. Juvenile Speaker. 20, Select Speaker. 10, Spread-Eagile Speaker | 21. Funny Speaker. 11. © Debater. 22, 12. Exhibition Speaker. %. Diale or. These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the Exhibition, for Homes, ete. They are drawn from FRESH sources, contain some of the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama tions and Recitations in each book. Dialogues. es, each volume 100 pages, em brace twenty-eight books, viz.: Dialogues No. Kighteen Baers ie pee Dial No. Six, yues No. : eens . Dialogues No, Twenty-one. Dialogues No. Eight. Dialogues No. Twenty-two. Dialogues No. Nine. Dialogues No. Twenty-three, Dialogues No. Ten. Dialogues No. Twenty-four, ¥ Dialogues No. Twenty-five. Dialogues No. Twelve. Dialogues No. Twenty-tix. Dialogues No. Thirteen. Dialogues No. Twenty seven. Di es No. Fourteen Dialogues No. Twenty-vight. 15 to % Dialogues and Dramas in each book. These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availaliitly in all school-rocms. They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- niture of a stage, and introduce a 6 ef charac- ters suited to scholars of every grade, male and female. It is fair to assume that no volumes ‘yet offered to schools, at any price, contain so many available and useful dialogues and dramas, serions and comic, Dramas and Readings. 164 12mo Pages. W Cents. For Schools, Parlo s gar big and i Am ateur Stage, compri Origin {nor mas, Comedy, Farce, D cea, Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by .oted writers; and Recitations and Sep ge new :nd standard, of the atest celebrity and interect. Edited by Prof, A. M. Russell, DIME HAND-BOOKS, Young People’s Series. Brapia's Dixe Hann-Booxs von Youre Proris eover a wide range of subjecta, and are sapecially adapted to their end. They constitute at once the cheapest and most useful works yet put into tie market for popular circulation. Ladies’ - Writer. Book of Games. Fortune-Teller. Book of Etiquette. Lovers' Caaket. Book of Verses. Ball-room Companion. Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty, Manuals for Housewives. Brapia’s Docs Fasmiy Srares aims to eupply a class of text-books and manuals fitted for every per- son’s use—the old and the young, the and the unlearned. They are of conceded value. 1. Cook Book. 4. Family Ph 2. Recipe Book. 5 and Mib- & Housekeeper's Guide. linery. 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_“K Bright: Partionlar Star-of Populan Woakligs "A. Fiest-Class Pamily Paper” i Unrivaled Among Popular Papers In the good repute of its large corps of Contributors; In the variety, scope and interest of ite contents; In the beauty of illustration, typography, and order of its “make-up.” ee A FIRST-CLASS POPULAR WEEKLY, aiming at what is Besr, Fausmesr anp Mos? AT.Ractrve fm Fiction, Romance and Wevel—in Sketch, Story, and Narrative—in City Life Revelations—in History, Biography and Evente—in Wit and Humor—in Poetry and Essay—in Special Departments of the Useful and Practical—ia Answers to Correspondents — Topics of the Times—in Talks with Our Girie— im Fashion Notes and Social Chit-chat, etc., ete., ete. — Entertaining, Instructive and Amusing, — it mects the tastes, wants and demands of old and young alike, and is the Congenial Companion, the Welcome Guest at Firesides, im Houses, Shops and Offices IN ALL PARTS OF THE UNION! No paper mow published in this eountry having a wider sirealation, and none being received with so much favor by that class of people who are selicitous that what they read shall be both pure and good. The following brilliant and powerful stories will be among — The Serials for 1882: THE LADY OF THE LONE ISLE; or, More Sinned| ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER; or, Marrying a Against Than Sinning. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. Portune, By Mrs. M. Y. Victor. MAN OR WOMAN; or, A Midnight Mystery. By Albert| A POOR GIRL; or, High and Low Life in New York. W. Aiken. : By Albert W. Aiken. HER AWFUL DANGER; or, The Secret of Silver | CTOUDED IN MYSTERY; or, A Heart Bowed Down. Willows. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, LOVE’S TALONS? or, The Claw "Neath the Velvet. By| THE LOST LOVE LETTER; er, The Postmaster’s Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Daughter. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. And Serials, Sketches, Heme and City Lifo Romances, Bssays, Poems, eto., etc., by the following well-knewn popular writers: LUCILLE HOLLIS, CAPT. MAYNE REID, FRANK E. HAMILTON, MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTOR, PANNIE MAY WITT, MRS. MARY H. FIELD, ANNABEL DWIGHT, CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER, ¥. C. HARBAUGH, HBEN B. REXFORD, FRED. T. FOSTER, PAUL PASTNOR, MATTIH DYER BRITTS, CORINNE CUSHMAN, FRANK COREY, HARRIET M SPALDING, HDWARD WILLETT, CARL COURTHNAY, CHARLES MORRIS, ABBIS C. McKEHVER, HARRiET BH. WARD ER, FRANK M. IMBRIB, MRS. MARK PRABODY, WM. R. HYSTER, ROGHR STARBUCG, . JNO. 4. WHITSON, JNO. W. SNYDER, JOSIB C. MALOTT, Ré&[T WINWOOD, BELL4 D. HIXON, EMILIE CLARE, GARRY GAINES, ae ~ “as the special contribut.ons of se inimitable wits and»humorists WASHINGTON WHITEHORN, JO#® JOT, Jr., end BEAT TIMK, and t. sparkiing esmyists and pen-preichers, THE PARSON’S DAUGHTER and EVE LAWLESS-—-all of whom cater exelusively for tha Sarvnpar Jounway, while in its deputment of ANSWHRS TO CORRESPONDENTS, those who are conversant with such Mtsrature premouace it the bet and most interesting column of the day. Taken all in all the Sarunpar Jovnyat is the —. Jounal Far Excellence for the Lovers of » Wholesome Popolar Literature and those secking for what is best and most enjoyable im that line should become its readers. The Saturday Journal is Published Weekly at the Following Rates Ren Wate Dee ee $1.00 Two Copies for One Year............ EVE odedswbe Be 85.00 For One Year. ........0...0....0..... de ccserovevenes 3.00 Bingle Copies... ......- 6-62. c cece cece cece eeeseeceee 6 eents Supplied by all Newsdealers, BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, | oa WILLIAM STRERT, KEW YORE.
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[2 Deadwood Dick, rue Prick or THE Roap By Edward L. Wheeler. 2 Yellowstone Jack, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 3 Kansas King; or, Tae Rep Ricur Hann. Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody). 4 e Wild-Horse Hunters. By Captain Mayne Reid and Captain Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagabond Joe, THe Younc WANDERING JEW. By Oll Coomes. Double Number, 10cts. 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper. by £. S. Ellis. 7 The Flying Yankee; or, THE OcEaN OvT- cast. By Col. Preatiss Ingraham. Seth Jones. BY Edward 8. Ellis. Adventures of Baron Munchausen. Nat Todd. By E. &. Ellis. The Two Detectives. By A.W. Aiken. Guliliver’s Travels, Dean Swift. The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes. Aladdin; or, & WonpERFUL LAMP. The Sea-Cat. By Captain Fred. Whittaker. Robinson Crusoe, (27 Llustrations.) KRalph Roy, ter Boy Buccangeer; or, THE Fueittve Yacut. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham: Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. The Double Daggers. By E. L. Wheeler. The Frontier Angel. By EdwardS. Ellis. The Sea Serpent; or, THE Boy Rosinson Crusor. By Juan Lewis. Nick o° the Night. By T. C. Harbaugh. Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P. Ingraham. By Roger Starbuck. The vom ye »tain. 001, THE BurrALo Demon; or, THE ee ee CH JOURS OOm ORS Oe wrwre = GUee KHSO Cloven Borper Vouturses, »By Edward L, Wheeler. Autelope Abe, THE Boy Guing. Oll Coomes Buffalo Ben, THE PRINCE oF THE PISTOL; or, DeADwoop Dick oy Diseuisz. E. L. Wheeler. 29 The Dumb Page. B 30 Roaring Ralph Roc LESS RANGER. By Harry St. George. ; 31 Keen-Kunife, Prince or THE Paatkizs: By Oli Coomes. 32 Bob Woolf, THz BorperR RvFrisn; or, THE Gru Deap-Sxor. By Edward L. Wheeler. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound. 58. W. Pierce. 84 Orezon_ Sol}; or, Nick Wutrries’. Boy Spy By Capt. J. F’. C. Adams. Wifd Ivan, THe Boy CLAvupE Dovat; or, Tae BrRoTHERHOOD oF DratTH. By Ed. LL Wheeler. 36 The Boy Clown. By Frank S. Finn. 37 The Hidden Lodge. By T. C. Harbaugh. Ned Wylde, THE Boy Scout. By Texas Jack. 39 Death-Face, THe Derective. By Wheeler. 40 Roving Ben. By J. J. Marshall. 41 Lasso Jack. By Oll Coomes. The Phantom Miner, By E. L, Wheeler, Dick Darling, Taz Pony Express Riper. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. Rattling Rube. By Harry St. George. Old Awalanche, THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR; or, Winp EpnA, THE GIRL Brreanp. E. L. Wheeler. Glass Eye, THE Great SHor oF THE WEST, By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. Nightingale Nat. By T. C..Harbaugh. Black John, THe Roap-AGent. By Badger. Omaha Oll. By Edward L. Wheeler. Burt Bunker, THe Traprer, C. E. Lasalle. The Boy Rifles. By Archie C. Irons. The White Buffalo. By C..£. Lasalle. Jim Bludsoe, Jr., THE Boy PHENrx; or, THRovGH To DeatH. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ned, Hazel. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. Déadly - Eye, THE Unknown Scovr; or, THE BRANDED BROTHERHOOD, By Buffalo Bill. Nick Whifiles’ Pet. Ca it. J. F. C. Adams. Deadwood Dick’s Eagles. By Wheeler. The Border King. By Oll Coomes. Old ek ORTs By terse St. George. The White Indfan. Capt. J. F. C. Adams. Buckhorn, Bill... By Edward L. Wheeler. The Shadow Ship. By Col. P. Ingraham. The Red Brotherhood. W. J. Hamilton Dandy Jack, BY T. C. Harbaugh, 65 Hurricane Bill,” By Jos. E. Badger, Jr 66 Single Hand. By W. J. Hamilton. 67 Patent-leather Joe. By Philip 8. Warne. 68 Border... Rebin Hood. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Riffe. B7 Edward L. Wheeler: 70 Old Zip’s Cabin. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, 71 DelawWarermDickh, By Oll Coomes. Mad Tom. Western, By W.J. Hamilton. Deadwood Dick on Deeks or, Catamrry JANE, THE *H ERO Of WHooP-Ur: By Wheeler. Hawk-eye Marry. By,Oll Coomes, The Boy Duelist. By Col. P. Ingraham. Abe Colt, THe Crow-K1L_er. By A. W. Aiken. Corduroy Charlies THE; Boy Brayo; or, Deapwoop Dick’s Lasr Act... By E.'L. Wheeler. Blue Diek, By eee Mayne Reid. Sol Ginger, GIANT’ TRIPPrR” BY A’W. Aiken: Rosebud Rob; or, Nuceer Ned, THe Knicut oF THE GuicH. By Edward L. Wheeler. Lightning Jo, Kit Haretoot. By T. C. Harbaugh. Rollo, the Boy Ranger,, By Ol! Coomes, Idyl, the Girl Miner, By E, ‘Li. Wheeler. Buck Buckram.* By’ Capt. JF. OC! Adams. 6 Dandy Kock.’ By G. Waldo Browne. 7M@he Land Pirates, By Capts Mayne Reid. wood , THE RECK- es Othe PABAGSANA A ahaa bsh & Fe Be mer OOD ED Ge WCNrOD Wel aFaFoded 5F a CCem soe Be She Oo Oe Srnrmerre>r FFF - eo ® Rogenvup Ros's REAPPEARANCE. By E. L. Wheeler. 89 Island Jim. By Bracebridge Hemyng. 90 The Dread Bider. By G. Waldo Browne. 91 The Captain of the Glubs or, Dee Youne RrvaL Artuietes.) "By |Bracebridgée “Hemyng. 92 Canada Chet, By Edward L. Wheeler. 93 The,Boy- Jhiners. By Edward 8, Ellis. 94 Midnight Jack, tHe Roap-Acent; or, Tue Boy Trarrrr. By T. C. Harbaugh. Capt. F. Whittaker. | By Captain J. F. C. Adams. | hotograph Phil, THe Boy SievrH; or, | | | umd mk ed et fet ped fd md fl pt fel dt fd el tpt fl fmt fh mk fl fd Ll lal el eel cel el el eel el | 95 The Rival Rovers. Lieut. Col. Hazeltine, 96 Watch-Eye, THE Saapow. By E. L. Wheeler. 97 The Outlaw Brothers. J. J. Marshall, 98 Kobin Hood, TRE OvtTLawep Ear; or, THE Merry Men or Gregnwoop. Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos. By G. Waldo Browne. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leaville; or, A SrrRANGE STROKE FOR LIBERTY. ng, Sake map” 101 Jack Harkaway in New York. By Bracks ae Hearne. 102 Dick ead-Eye. By Col. In am. 103 The Lion of the Sea. By Col."Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device. By Wheeler. 105 Old Rube, Tor Hunter. Capt. H. Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, THe Guive. By T. C. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim, By James L. Bowen. 108 Daring me ah By Hi St. George. 109 Deadwood ick as Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 10 The Black Steed of the Prairies. A bag See of Texan Adventure. By Bowen. 1 The Sea-sWDevil, _By Col. P.Ingraéham} The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe. Jatk Moyle, THz YounG SPrcuLAToR; or, THe RoaD To Fortung. By Ed. L. Wheeler. The Black Schooner., Roger Starbuck. The Mad Miner. By’G. Waldo Browne. The Hussar Captain, Col, P. Ingraham. Gilt-Edged Dic > THE Sport DETECTIVE; or, THe Roap-AGent’s DavuGHTer. Wheeler. Will Somers, The Boy Detective. Morris, Mustang Sam., By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. The Branded Handa. By Frank Dumont. Cinnamon Chip, THe Girt Sport; or, THE GOLDEN Ipo or Mr. Rosa.) !'d. Ls, Wheeler. Phil Hardy, Tre Boss Boy. By C. Morris. Kiowa Charley, THE Warre MustanGer. By T. C. Harbaugh. Tippy, THE Texan. By. George. Gleason. Bonanza Bill, Miner. By Ed. L: Wheeler; Picayune Pete... By Charles. Morris. Wild-Fire, Boss ortHe Roap. By Dumont. The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. Deadwood Dick’s Double, By Wheeler. Detective Dick. By Charles Morris. The Golden Hand. | By Geo. W) Browne. 2 The Hunted Hunter.,; By £d_8. Ellis. 33 Boss Bob, the Kine or THE BooTsuacks: or, THE PAWNBROKER’S Prot) Ed. L. Wheeler. 134 Sure Shot Seth, Tae Boy RirtemMan; or THE QO OD eek epee pe et wre BOOS AGTS CNW BOOM AD KS CoCo NO HO ROMO Youne Patriots of THE Nortu. By Oll Coomes. 186 Captain Paul, Tar Kentocny MoonsHrner; or, Toe Boy Spy of THE Mountatns. By Clark. 136 Night-Hawk. Kit. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 137 The Helpless Hand. Capt. Mayne Reid. 138 Blonde. Bills or, DrApwoop Diex’s Home Bass.» By: Edward L. Wheeler. 139 Judge‘Lynch, Jr. By T. C. Harbaugh. 140 Blue Blazes}; or, THe Break 0’ Day Boys or Rocky Bar. “By Frank Dumont. 141 Solid Sam, THe Boy Roap-AGenT; or, THE BRANDED Brows. By Edward L Wheeler. 142 Handsome . Harry, THE cK Dr- TECTIVE. By Charles'Morris. Scar-Face Saul, By Oll Coomes. Dainty Lance, Tae Boy Sport. By Badger. Captain -Ferret, tHE New Yorke Derec- TIVE; or, Boss Bon’s Boss’ Jon. Wheeler. Silver Star, THe Boy Knicuart. y Coomes. Will Wildfire, tHe Tsoxovcaserep; or, Tue Wryntina Hann. By Charles Morris. Sharp Sam. By J. Alexander Patten. A Game of Goldy or, Deapwoop Dick's Bie Srrice.. By.didward L. Wheeler. Lance and Lasso. By Capt. F.Whittaker. Panther, Paul, Tur Prarem Pirate; or, Dainty LANCE To ‘THE Resctr. J. E. Badger. Black Bess, Wit. Wivprie’s Racer; or, Wrynine Acarnst Opps. By Charles Morris. Eagie Kit, tae Boy Demon. By Oll Coomes. The Swerd Hunters. BY . Whittaker. Gold Trigger, THe Srort. T. C. Harbaugh. Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; ,ox, Tue Pickep Parry. p Edward L. Wheeleér. Miike Merry, THE Hansor PoLice boy;or, THe Niaut-HAwks OF PHILADELPALA. Morris. Fancy Frank of Colorado; Buffalo Bill. The Lost Captain. By Whittaker. The. Black Giant. By.J. E. Badger, Jr. New York Net, THE ‘Girt DETECTIVE; or, OLD BLAKESLY’s Monry, By E. L. Wheeler. Will Wildiire in the Woods... Morris, Little Texas, Tam YounG Mvsrancer,’ A Tale of Texan Prairies, By Oll Coomes. Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By G.W. Browne, Billy Baggage, THE RamRoap Boy; or, Run TO EartH. By. Charles Morris. Mickory Marry. By Harry,S8t. George, Asa Scott, Tae Steamcoat Boy... By Willett, Deadly Dash. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Tornado Tom, By T..C. Harbaugh; A’Trump Card; or, Witt Witprirne Wors anD Loses, By Charles Morris. — ny wee Re a op eee uuderbolt Tom, Harry St; George. Dandy Rock’s Rival. By WW JBrowhe. Bob Rockett, tar Boy Dopaer. By Morris. Captain Arizona.,. By,.Philip 8.Warne. The Boy Runawnhy; or, Tur Buccaneer or-THE Bay. Lieut. H.D, Perry, U.S.N. Nobby Nick of Nevada, & L. Wheeler. 8 Old Solitary. By Oli Coomes. 179 Bob Rockett, rue Bank Runner. Morris. 180 The Sea Trailer; Or, A Vow Wert Kerr. By Lieut... D. Perry, 0.8. N: ~ = CRM AD Cm =o om oO oo fe ee ee te wt ao oo SS OQoew AA over EH aFsE-EeFsd “EDADA OO AD FT Qe SOSA Ohm CM KOC | 181 Wild Frank, roe Bucxsxm Bravo; or, Lavy Liy’s Love. By Edward L. Wheeler. 182 Littl Hurricane, tHe Boy Capra. By Oll Coomes, | | | 205 183 The Hidden Hand. By Chas. Morris, 184 The Boy Trailers. By Badger, Jr. 185 Evil Eye, Krxe or Carte Tmrves; or, THE Vota or THE Rio Grinps. By F. Dumont. 186 Cool Desmond. By Col. Delle Sara. 187 Fred HMalyard, Trae Lire Boat Boy; or, THE Sapeciins oF THE INLET. By © Morris. 188 Ned Temple, rae Borprer Boy. Harbaugh. 189 Bob Rockett, rae Cracxsman. By Morris. 190 Dandy Darke, By Wm. R..Eyster. 191 Buffalo Billy, tH: Boy BvuLLWHAckER. By Capt. A. B, Taylor, U. 8. A. 192 Captain Kit. By Lieut, H. D, Perry,U.8.N. 193 Captain Mask, Te Lapy Roap-AGENT; or, ParTent-LEATHER Jon's DEerEatT, By Warne 194 Buffalo Bills Bet. By Captain Taylor. 195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream, By Wheeler. 196 Shadowed; or, Bon Rockett’s Fieut ror Lirg, By Charles Morris. Little Grit, tHE WiLD Riper. By Ingraham. Arkansaw, THE MAN WITH THE KNIFe. By T. C. Harbaugh. 199 Featherweight. By Edward Willett. 200 The Boy Bedouins. By Whittaker. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Dmap- woop Dick’s Warp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 202 Prospect Pete, or THE Boy BRIGADE; or, THe YounG OvrLaw Hunters. By Oll Coomes. 203 The, Boy Pards, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 204 Gold Plume, THe Boy Banpit,.. Ingraham. Deadwood Dick’s Doom, By Wheeler. 206 Dark Paul, THe Ticer Kina. By C. Morris. 207 Neysso Nick, THE Boy Gop HuntER, A Tale of Arizona. By T, C, Harbaugh. 208 The Boy Hercules. By Oll Coomes. 209 Fritz, THe Bounp-Boy Dersctive. Wheeler. 210 Faro Frank of High Pine, By Hyster. 211 Crooked Cale, THE CALIBAN OF CELESTIAL By Jos.E. Badger, Jr. 212 Dashing Dave, THe DaAnvy -Derrorrvn By Charles Morris. Fritz to the Front. By E. L. Wheeler. Wolfgang, THe Rosser or THE RHINE, By Captain Frederick Whittaker. Captain Bullet, tar Ramer Emma. By T. Cy Harbaugh 216 Bison _Bill,,tHe Prince oF THE REINs. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. * 217 Captain Crack-Shot, By E. L. Wheeler. 218 Viger Tom, THe Texan Terror. By Ob ° Coomes. 219 Despardy. the) Duelist. By P. 8. Warne. 220 Tom Tanner, ScaLawaG AND SCAPEGRACE. By Charles Morris. 221 Sugar Coated Sam 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport. 223 Ozark Alf, Edward Willett. 224 Dashing Dick; or, Trapper Tom’s OCasTie. By Oll Coomes. 225 Sam Charcoal, the Premium Dar- ky. By Charles Morris, 226 Snoozer, THE’ Boy Smarp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 227 Dusky Darrell, Traprer. By E. Emerson. 228 Little Wildfire. By Oll Coomes: 229 Crimson. Kate, THe Girt Tramer. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 230 The Yankee Bajah. 231 197 198 213 214 215 By BE, L» Wheeler. By Ingraham. Kine OF THE Moonta. By By C. D. Clark. Plucky Phil, or rae Mounrarmw Trai. By T. C. Harbaugh. 232 Gold-Dust Dick. By FE. L. Wheeler 233 Joe Buck, of Angels, anv, His Boy Parp Pav POWDERHORN; or, % Taker WiLp Men oF Kaate Bark: By Albert W. Aiken. 234 Old .Rocky’s “‘ Boyees;” or, Benrro, THE YOUNG QRSE-BREAEKER. By Buckskin Sam 235 Shadow Sam, THE Messencer Boy; or, TURNING THE TABLES. By Charles Morris. 236:Apollo BIll, THE Tram Tornapo, By Ed- ward L. Wheelar. ' 237 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain 3 or, Tur Mysterious RancHERO,. By Colonel 1D tiss Ingraham, 238 The Parson Detective; or, Lirtie SHOCKY, THE,RANGER OF Raven Roost. By Ol Coomes. 289 The Gold-seeker Guide; or, THe Lost MovunTaIn. By Captain Mayne Reid. Ready February 21st. 240 Cyclone Kit. By Edward 4 . ate A ry 28th, A hate eine evety Week” ~ The Half-Dime Library is for sale by al} Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on recelpt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 Willtam Street, New York. eae