But I do not propose to follow old Jerry verbatim in his long talk with the boys, but shall give you merely the substance of his remarks; and here let me add, that, in addition to the above requirements, a successful trailer should possess quick perception, fertile resources, and great presence of mind.

Almost any scout knows, that, in order to overtake a party of Indians who have stampeded his stock the night previous, he should travel slowly at the first, and follow persistantly at a moderate pace, giving his animals the night to rest in, and starting at daybreak in the morning. By following this course he is pretty certain of overtaking the party on the third day, especially if they do not suspect pursuit. Then comes the time when the services of an experienced trailer are requisite to tell you the number and condition of the enemy, and how many hours have elapsed since they passed a given point; for it is necessary to remain concealed after you ascertain these facts, until you decide upon the manner of attack; for, if Indians suspect pursuit, they always scatter, and it is impossible to overtake them.

One can easily tell from the appearance of a trail, if it be made by a war-party or not, because there are no Indians who take their families along when starting on the war-path; consequently, they never carry their lodge-poles with them, which are always fastened to the sides of the animals, and the ends permitted to drag on the ground behind. If there should be no trace of these, it is safe to regard it as a war-party.

It is always easy to distinguish the track of an Indian pony from that made by a white man's horse; for the former will be much smaller, and bear no impression of a shoe.

One of the most difficult things to accomplish in trailing is to learn to correctly ascertain the age of a trail.

If a track is very fresh, it will show moisture when the earth is turned up, which in a few hours becomes dry. If in the sand, little particles will be found running into the impression left in the ground. Should rain have fallen since the track was made, the sharp edges will have been washed away. The condition of the ordure also furnishes an indication.

I once employed as scout, a Mexican, who could tell by a single glance at a trail, by what tribe it had been made, their number, its age, and in fact every particular concerning the party, as truthfully as though he had seen them.

We were one time following an Apache trail, when we came to a ledge of bare rock. I examined it carefully, and could detect no mark of any kind; but the Mexican led us across as easily as though it had been a beaten path, without even once hesitating a moment, during the two miles over which it extended.

When I asked him what he saw that indicated the course of the trail, he showed me that the surface of the rock was covered with a very fine, dry moss, that, with the closest scrutiny, bore evidence of having been pressed by the foot: so slight was the impression made, it would have escaped the notice of ninety-nine out of every hundred persons; yet his keen eyes detected every footprint as plainly as though it had been made in the grass.

If a trail is for any reason lost, an expert will easily recover it by following for a time its general direction and watching the formation of the land; for all trails are made over the highest portions, thereby affording a view of the entire country through which they pass.

In the grass, a trail can be seen for a long time: the blades will be trodden down and bent in the direction followed by the party; and, even after it has recovered its natural position, a good trailer will have no difficulty in following it; for his keen eye will detect a slight difference in the color of the grass that has been stepped on from that growing around it.

So, also, the appearance of the tracks will at once show him the gait at which the party were travelling, and he thus knows how to regulate his pace so as to overtake them.

It is exceedingly rare to find a white person that can retrace his steps for any distance in an open country; while an Indian is always able to do it. No matter how circuitous may be the route by which you may have reached a certain locality, an Indian will find his way back to the place of starting by the most direct route, though it be in the darkest night; and, if you ask him how he does it, if he replies to your question at all, he will simply shrug his shoulders and say, "Quien sabe?" or who knows.

No matter how agreeable he may be about camp; on the road he never speaks, except it should be necessary to give some direction or order.

Thus it will be seen, that he who would become a skilful trailer, must of necessity be an observer, as well as thinker; and remember, boys, that he who talks most, generally thinks the least.

CHAPTER VII.

On the evening of the second day after the incidents narrated in the previous chapter, we encamped on the banks of the San Pedro, with wood, water, and grass in abundance; in fact, using the words of Hal: "Everything to make us comfortable, but fresh meat; and meat we must have. Let's go out and get some. We shall be sure to find a deer or antelope in this beautiful bottom."

"What say you, Jerry, shall we try it?" inquired I.

"I reckon so. We've got plenty of time before night, and I 'spect I may as well go and show you how ter hunt 'em; 'cause yer won't git none unless I go 'long with yer, that's sartin."

"Well, we'll see what we get if you do go along," responded Hal; "so come on."

Mounting our horses, Jerry, Hal, Ned, and myself set out in pursuit of antelope, whose tracks could be seen in all directions about us.

We had ridden two or three miles without starting game of any kind, when Jerry, who was a short distance in advance of us, suddenly dismounted, and began studying the ground attentively.

"Hilloa!" exclaimed Ned, "Jerry's struck something."

As we rode up to him, he said,—

"Wal, boys, here's game, sartin sure."

"What is it, Jerry?" inquired Hal.

"What is it? Why, a fresh Comanche trail; and 'tain't no war party, neither, for they've got their lodges with 'em."

"How do you know that?" inquired Ned."

"How do you know you're settin' on that horse?" asked Jerry. "Why, I know one just ez well ez you know t'other. Can't you see whar the ends of the poles dragged in the dirt behind 'em. Anybody could see that, I should think."

"How old is the trail, Jerry?" inquired I.

"That trail waz made afore eight o'clock this mornin'," was the answer.

"Before eight o'clock," sneered Hal. "Why don't you say that the Comanches passed this spot at precisely seventeen minutes past six o'clock this morning? You might just as well be particular, Jerry."

"Come, Jerry, tell us how you know when the Indians passed?" said I.

"Sartin I will," he good-humoredly replied. "Yer see we hed a purty hevy dew last night, but the sun waz up so high that the grass waz all dry at eight o'clock. Wall, now, if you'll look you'll see, that where the grass was pressed down by the horses' feet into the earth, a little of the sand stuck to it, (coz it waz damp), that has dried on since. Now if the trail bed been made after eight o'clock, when the grass was dry, why, it wouldn't stick eny more than it does now."

"A very satisfactory explanation," said I.

"Now what I propose is," continued Jerry, "thet we just foller the trail, and we'll strike something afore many hours, ez sure's my name's Jerry Vance."

"But we may get into trouble," urged I.

"Ther ain't no danger. It's a party of squaws and pappooses, I reckon, coz yer see ther ain't more'n four horses with 'em."

"I'm agreed," said I, and away we galloped over the beautiful green prairie; but, before we had gone a mile, a fine large herd of antelope appeared, quietly grazing upon a knoll at a little distance, who, when they saw us, stood for an instant curiously regarding us, and then trotted leisurely away.

"They're kinder wild, I reckon," said Jerry. "These Injuns must hev bin huntin' 'em, and we might chase 'em all day without gittin' a shot. So we'll just tie our horses in thet chaparral down there, out of sight, and then we'll call 'em up."

We dismounted, and securing our horses, followed Jerry. He removed the ramrod from his rifle, and tied to one end of it an old-fashioned, red bandana handkerchief. This done, he planted the other end firmly in the ground, leaving the flag to flutter in the breeze.

"Now, boys, you just lie down here, in the tall grass, so thet the critters won't see yer, and wait awhile."

Following Jerry's instructions, we placed ourselves in the tall grass, and lying still awaited the result of the experiment.

"Yer see," continued he, talking in a low tone of voice, "antelope's the most curious critters in the world, 'ceptin' women. Jist ez soon ez they see thet red flag, they'll want to know what it means, and they won't rest easy till they find out, either."

And, sure enough, in a few moments we saw the graceful creatures, one after another, turn and attentively look at the signal. Then they slowly walked towards it. Then came a pause and a nibble of grass, and again, as though they could not resist the desire to ascertain what this singular thing fluttering in the breeze was, they hesitatingly came still nearer, as though they feared some hidden danger. In this way they soon approached within easy range, and we shot five with our revolvers.

"There," said Jerry, as the remainder of the herd finally galloped away over the plain, "you boys see what curiosity does. Yer kin allers fetch 'em with a red hankercher, and gin'rally by jist layin' down on yer back, and holdin' up yer feet. They're awful curious critters, them antelopes is. I reckon we'd better quit this trail, and git them air carcasses inter camp. What d'yer say, youngsters?"

"I declare, I forgot to fire at all!" exclaimed Ned. "I never once thought of my pistol."

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Jerry. "You've got the 'buck-fever' my boy. I might a knowed you wouldn't a fired; no, nor you, neither," continued he, turning towards Hal.

"But I did fire twice, though," said Hal.

"Le'me see yer pistol, youngster," said Jerry; after examining it, he again burst into a loud laugh.

"Jest as I 'spected! Every barr'l loaded. Yer see you was so 'cited that yer forgot all about firin'. You thought yer did, I s'pose; but don't be too sartin next time, 'cause the fever allers takes what little sense a feller's got, when it strikes him."

The antelope were soon dressed; but Hal's chagrin was so great at the thought of being so cleverly detected by Jerry's shrewdness, that I attempted to comfort him by promising to relate my own misfortunes upon experiencing my first attack. After supper, and while we were smoking our pipes, the boys claimed the fulfilment of my promise.

I only hope that the narrative may prove as interesting to my young readers, as it did to Hal and Ned, who heard the story with roars of laughter at my blunders.

Well, boys, I was once passing through the Sacramento range of mountains in New Mexico, in company with an old trapper and hunter, named Nat Beal.

Nat was a jovial, pleasant companion; and, in truth one of the best shots I ever saw.

While riding through one of the numerous little valleys with which that range abounds, we saw at a little distance, a magnificent specimen of a black-tailed deer.

Now I had always wanted to kill a black-tailed deer, and this was the first time I had ever seen one, so I begged Nat to let me shoot it.

He said, with a laugh, "Shoot away!" and I took deliberate aim and fired.

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared he, as the fellow bounded away unharmed, "it's as clear a case of 'buck-fever' as ever I saw."

"Not at all. I aimed too high; that was the only trouble."

"Jest so," replied Nat; "a man with the 'fever' always aims too high."

"I'll bet I won't miss the next one," said I, angry at the imputation.

"I'll bet you will, two to one on it," said Nat. "But it's too late to get another shot to-night, so we'll wait until to-morrow evening; and, in the mean time, I'll give you a few idees 'bout deer."

"As soon as the sun had sunk to his rest the next evening, I borrowed Nat's 'call' and started out."

"What's a 'call'?" inquired Ned.

"A 'call' is a whistle, made from an eagle's bone. It is generally fancifully carved, and, when sounded, makes a noise that perfectly resembles that made by a young one in calling its mother. So perfect is the imitation of the bleating of a fawn, that, when properly sounded, you will sometimes see half a dozen does, running to see if their young are in danger."

"But don't they stay with their little ones?" asked Hal.

"No: they hide them in the tall grass at night. You see a fawn gives out no scent until after it's a month old, and can run well; but the old one does, and knowing this she goes off to sleep alone, so that the wolves and panthers won't be attracted by her scent to the fawn. This she continues doing until the fawn is able to protect itself by running. In the fall of the year, therefore, if you select a spot near the foot of a mountain where the grass is tall and free from bushes, and, between sundown and dark, conceal yourself in it and sound your call, you are very apt to get a choice between four or five good fat doe's."

Well, I was determined to get a deer; so I borrowed the 'call,' and started out. After walking a mile or two, I came to a beautiful stretch of open prairie, where the tall grass served admirably for concealment.

I lay down upon my belly, and commenced crawling towards a grove of young cedars, near the base of the mountain.

I very soon discovered that propelling myself along, Indian fashion, with my elbows, was of itself no small job, especially when obliged to carry a rifle and keep my head below the level of the grass about me.

I persevered however, and after working like a beaver for nearly an hour, began to wonder why I did not see any deer, when all at once it occurred to me, that I hadn't sounded the call; and that made me remember, that I had forgotton in which pocket I put it.

I endeavored for some time to get hold of it, but was finally obliged to roll over upon my back before I could fish it out of the depths of my pantaloons pocket. This was easy enough to do, but to resume my former position without betraying my presence—ah! that was another thing. I eventually succeeded in doing it however, and placing the whistle between my lips, put forth my hand to recover my rifle, when, to my horror and dismay, I saw, within four feet of my face, a huge rattlesnake.

To say that I got up, don't half express it, boys. I bounded as man never bounded before, startling deer, fawn, and everything else about me, but the snake. He didn't seem to care a particle, but retained his position near the rifle, looking as angry as if he thought me to blame for jumping; and the worst of it was, there was neither stick nor stone within sight, that I could get hold of.

I said, "Shoo!" but the snake wouldn't shoo worth a cent. I stamped on the ground, and said, "Get out!" but he wouldn't move. There he was, within six inches of my rifle; his long, slender body partially coiled so that he could easily strike any object approaching; with form erect, and long forked tongue, darting in and out of his half-opened mouth, as his flat, ugly head slowly vibrated to and fro like the pendulum of a clock.

It was growing dark too, and I was a long distance from camp, and the country was full of Mescalero Apaches, and I hadn't even a stick to reach him with. What could I do?

I bethought myself of my powder-flask, and taking good aim, hurled it with all the force I could muster. It struck him fairly on the body and with a rattle of defiance, he sprang towards me, and I—well, I jumped.

I managed to get hold of my rifle, but the snake was gone: he was somewhere in the grass about me, and I didn't know where; so I concluded to stand not on the order of my going, but go at once to camp, and go I did; but, before I was a hundred yards away I remembered that I had left my powder-flask behind. Nor could I find Nat's whistle anywhere about me, or even remember what I had done with it. In the surprise occasioned by my discovery of the snake, I had dropped it.

It was too dark to think of returning to search for it that night; besides, there was a snake loose in the vicinity that I didn't care to encounter.

I knew Nat would laugh at my returning without a deer, but I made up my mind to endure that, without getting angry; for I felt confident, camp was the place for me just then.

Nat asked no questions; but after a time, I voluntarily related to him the mishaps of the afternoon. He laughed heartily, and promised to go with me in the morning and give me a practical lesson in deer-stalking.

The next day we visited the scene of my discomfiture, which Nat pronounced a splendid place for stalking, showing me where several fawns had lain the previous night. We also found the 'call,' just where I dropped it when I made my jump, which Nat pronounced, equal to any ever made by a first-class circus-man: in fact, I felt rather proud of it myself; and when Nat slyly remarked that I was better at jumping than at hunting, I made up my mind that I would have a deer that night, come what would.

Sunset came; and telling Nat that I would not return to camp without the deer, I started for the scene of my former ill luck. I was delighted to find, that by following Nat's instructions, I was able to move over the ground much easier than the night before. Still, it was pretty hard work. But I persevered; and upon reaching the proper place, sounded my call— once, twice, thrice; and in a short time, saw a fine fat doe coming directly towards me, apparantly listening for a repetition of the sound. Once more I used the 'call:' the imitation was perfect. She approached a little nearer to me, and stopped.

I dropped my head, and once again sounded the 'call,' endeavoring to give it the quick, impatient tone of the young when in danger.

The effect was perfect. I fairly laughed to myself, to see the doe bound towards me until she stood within easy rifle range, when she suddenly stopped again, as though frightened at her own temerity.

I brought my rifle to my shoulder, and was in the act of pulling the trigger, when a slight rustling in the grass at my right attracted my attention. Thinking of that snake, I turned my eyes in the direction of the sound, and saw, to my horror and amazement, not the snake, but a large panther, not twenty yards away, and creeping stealthily towards me, with glaring eyes, gleaming white teeth, and ears well laid back upon his head. For an instant I was dumbfounded; then, recollecting myself, I turned the rifle and gave him its contents.

The creature made a convulsive leap into the air, and dropped to the ground—dead; and I—well, I believe I started for camp to tell Nat.

We packed the carcass into camp and while removing the skin, Nat took occasion to congratulate me, on being able to so perfectly imitate a fawn as to lure a panther from its lair; advising me however, to give up deer-stalking until I struck a better streak of luck.

"There boys, you see what the 'buck-fever' did for me. We are all liable to take it."

"Yes; but you killed the panther," said Hal.

"True; but it was only a piece of luck that might not happen again in a dozen times, and I didn't kill the deer."

The boys agreed that my story was both amusing and interesting; and as for old Jerry, he laughed most heartily at my experience, saying that it reminded him of his first adventure with a bear.

The boys, eager for another story, urged him to relate it then, but Jerry declined; promising them however, that they should have it the next night.

Early on the following morning, we once more started on the road; and for two days, met with no incident worthy of note.

We were now approaching the section of country bordering on the Rio Pecos, one of the most barren and desolate portions on our whole route.

This stream runs for hundreds of miles through the plains, its course being marked by the growth of no living green thing: in fact, you do not know of its presence, until you stand upon its banks.

It is narrow, deep, extremely crooked, and very rapid, while the water is both salt and bitter. The banks are very steep and there are but few places throughout its entire length where it can be crossed in safety.

But little grass grows near it, and neither man nor beast can drink the water with impunity.

Upon reaching the top of a long line of bluffs, towards which we had been travelling for the last two days, we came in sight of a large wagon-train encamped, apparantly upon the open plain.

Jerry at once declared it to be Magoffin's; and the boys and myself volunteered to ride forward and ascertain the cause of their delay.

A brisk canter of a couple of hours brought us to the encampment, which sure enough, proved to be Magoffin's train, delayed by the high water in the Pecos.

Right glad were we all, to fall in with our old companions once more; for, aside from the company their presence furnished, we felt infinitely safer than when travelling alone with our small party.

As soon as Jerry arrived with the wagons, a consultation was held; and it was decided to go into camp and wait for the water to subside.

"It's high'n I ever see it afore," said Jerry, standing on the brink and gazing at the turbid, swift current, that almost filled its banks; "and the mischief is, that when she once gits up, there's no tellin' when she'll go down. We may hev to lay here two weeks, afore we kin cross."

"Two weeks!" exclaimed I, why we'd better build a boat."

"Ef we hed a lot of empty casks, we might float our wagons over and swim the mules; but we hain't got 'em, that's sartin."

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Hal; "we can build a raft."

"Yes; or better still, float the things over in one of the wagon-bodies," suggested Ned.

"Well thought of," exclaimed I: "we can at least make the attempt."

We soon had one of the wagons unloaded and on the ground; beneath which we carefully stretched a couple of the sheets. One of the men was sent across the stream with a small cord, by which he drew over a rope, to which was attached a common block, after which the wagon-body was launched, and pulled across the river in safety. It was then returned and loaded, reaching the opposite bank without mishap, or leaking a drop.

The wagons were now taken apart; and piece by piece, carried across and put together; into them, the goods as fast as ferried over, were reloaded; and at the end of the second day we were ready to swim our mules. This was accomplished without loss; and thanks to Ned, the day following we were once more on the road.

I ventured to remind Jerry of his favorite saying regarding boys, but the old man had no reply to make, save that "Ned was a most 'stonishin' boy. He'd killed a Injin, and had a wonderful head on him, which was more'n he could say of t'other one."

In consideration of Ned's valuable services, old Jerry consented that evening, to relate for his especial benefit, the story of his first experience in bear hunting, which I shall give as nearly as possible in the old man's words:—

"Yer see boys, I was bringed up in Tennessee; leastways, I lived thar till I was nigh onter seventeen year old, when I struck out and come to Texas.

"Father hed a farm in Tennessee, and ez I was the only boy, I had a heap of work ter do on the cussid place. I didn't like fannin' much, and used ter tease the old folks ter let me go down ter Knoxville and go into a store, or enter inter some other ekelly 'spectable bizness. But the old folks allowed that I must stay with 'em till I was twenty-one, any how.

"One day when I was about sixteen year old, the old man said ter me, 'Jerry, I've got a lot of wood cut, up on the mountain-lot, that wants piling up. Yer'd better take yer dinner and an axe along, and go up and pile it. Do it nice now, 'cause I shall be up 'bout noon, ter see how you git 'long.'

"I knowed what that meant, well enuff; it meant that, if I didn't do it right, I'd git a gaddin', 'cause the old man was famous for gaddins'.

"Arter breakfast mother put me up a good dinner of bread and meat, and I shouldered my axe and started for the wood-lot, 'bout three miles up the mountain.

"I whistled along and didn't think nothin' 'bout ther walk; 'cause, yer see, I allus liked ther woods, and enjoyed bein' thar. Arter I got to the lot, I found the wood, and went ter work to get it piled. 'Twarn't much of a job, and I got it done afore noon and then sot down on a log and waited for the old man ter come. Wal, I sot and waited, and begun ter get mighty lonesome and ter think 'bout Injins, though I knowed there warn't no Injins thar. I waited so long I got hungry, and concluded I'd take a bite of the bread and meat mother'd put up.

"I sot down on a log, and put my basket on the stump, and went ter eatin'. I never smelt anything so good as that dinner smelt, less 'twas a good venison steak on the coals, when you're putty hungry.

"Wal, I sot there, eatin' away, and, the fust thing I knowed, I kind 'er felt suthin' tetch my shoulder. I turned my head, and thar was a big black bar, with his nose within a foot of mine. I've seen bars sence that time, and big ones too, but that bar looked bigger'n a ox ter me. I didn't stop for nothin', but jist lited out, and the bar arter me. Maybe yer think you've seen runnin'; but I tell yer honestly, boys, yer never see nothin', like ther time I made gittin' away from that bar.

"I looked over my shoulder once in a while, but 'twarn't no use; thar was that bar right behind me, growin' bigger and bigger every minute, it seemed ter me. The harder I run, the wus I was off. I didn't gain a foot on ther critter. My heart riz rite inter my throte, and my bar riz up so I lost my cap,—leastways I've allus 'spected that was the reason I lost it. I didn't know what ter do. I kep' on runnin', but my wind was givin' out, and I knew I couldn't stan' it much longer; so I made a break for a good sized white birch I see, and the way I shinned up thet tree, would a bin a credit to any major-gen'ral, I tell yer.

"When ther bar come to ther foot of ther tree he sot down on his haunches, ter kinder get breath a little, and then he begun ter climb it; and blast my picter boys, ef he couldn't giv me three pints in the game of climbin', and then beat me. It didn't seem ter me he was more'n a second, gittin' up. I kep' climbin' higher an' higher, and the bar kep' a-follerin'. By and by I got so high, that ther tree begun ter bend backwards and for'ards, but ther bar kep' comin' higher and higher.



"I saw 'twarn't no use, so I made up my mind ter swing ther tree over ez far ez I could, and drop and try my legs onct more. So I clim' a little higher, and when the tree begun ter bend, that bar sot thar and just laffed, if ever a bar laffed in this world. The tree kep' swayin' back'ards and for'ards jist like a cradle.

"I watched my chance, and, when ther top come putty nigh ther ground, I jist dropped, and, when I picked myself up, blast my eyes, ef thar warn't ther bar, right side er me. Wal I started agin, but hadn't run more'n fifty yards, afore I tripped and down I went. I knowed 'twas all up with me then, so I jist laid still. Why, I was so scart I couldn't hev moved ef I'd tried; but I did look up jist once, to see the bar set clus by, watchin' me, and lookin' as mad as a wet hen.

"I never was so scart afore nor since. I 'spected every minute to feel his teeth and hear my bones a-crunchin', but I didn't.

"Putty soon I heered somebody down in the woods a-callin'. I 'spectcd it was dad, but I didn't dare to holler or make any noise. I heered 'em callin' agin and agin; putty soon I jist looked out'er ther corner of my eye, and see the bar was gone. At first I couldn't believe it, and 'spected he was playin' 'possum—waitin' ter see ef I moved, afore he went for me. Well, I kep' putty still for a while, but not hearin' anything from the bar, I finally looked up, and see that he'd gone for good, and then I got up and started for home in just about ez big a hurry, ez any feller ever went down a mountain.

"I hadn't got more'n half a mile afore I see a feller rite ahead of me, a-leadin' that identical bar, thet bed been chasin' me all day.

"I never was so took down in my life boys, I wouldn't a bin s'prised at anything, arter thet. I mustered up spunk enuff ter speak to the feller, and he told me 'twas a tame bar, thet belonged ter him, thet hed got loose thet day, and he'd bin up a-findin' him.

"Well boys, I never felt so ashamed of myself afore nor since.

"You may bet, I never told no one 'bout it afore, and I shan't agin. That's all."

We were very much amused at Jerry's story, and the boys pronounced it decidedly the best they had yet heard, and as the hour was late, we all "turned in," in search of a good night's rest.

CHAPTER VIII.

The following morning, we once more took the road, and for three days followed the course of the river, which carried us through the most undesirable portion of country we had yet seen; even game seemed to have forsaken it.

The route then brought us into the vicinity of the celebrated "Comanche Springs," situated in the open prairie, at the crossing of the great Comanche war trail that leads into Mexico—a trail that may with truth, be said, to be marked with whitened bones, its entire distance.

As we were likely at any time to meet with bands of Comanches in this neighborhood, it became necessary to travel with the greatest precaution; but even this did not appear to prevent one of the "varmints," as old Jerry called him, from boldly coming into camp the next day, without any one having seen his approach. Hal was the first who discovered him, and as the fellow was alone, begged so hard for permission for him to remain, that I yielded a reluctant assent, and permitted him to come into camp.

The fellow claimed to be very hungry, a good friend of the whites, and said he was on his way from Mexico, to his home on the Brazos, and only wanted permission to remain, long enough to rest a little and obtain something to eat.

"I don't like the cut of any of them varmints," said Jerry, "they're all natral thieves, and ez likely ez not, thet cuss is a spy. We can't tell nothin' 'bout 'em, and ther best way is, ter steer clear on 'em, or at any rate keep 'em at good rifle range."

Telling Hal not to lose sight of the fellow for an instant, and as soon as he had rested an hour, to start him on, I laid down under one of the wagons for the purpose of taking a siesta, but was awakened by hearing Hal loudly inquiring, if any body knew what had become of his pony. No one appeared to know anything about it, but I heard Jerry's voice suggest, that probably his Comanche friend could tell where it was. This aroused me in an instant, and I crawled out from under the wagon, and, calling Hal, asked him where his horse was, when he saw him last.

He replied,—

"I saw him not half an hour ago, within twenty yards of this spot."

"How did he get away? pull his picket-pin?" asked I.

"No," replied Hal, "the lariat looks as though it had been cut."

"It's plain enuff to tell who's got yer hoss; it's that Comanche. Them varmints are nat'ral hoss thieves, any how."

"Do you mean to tell me, that that Indian could steal my horse, right here, under my very eyes, and I not see him?" angrily asked Hal.

"Well, you see he has, don't yer?" replied Jerry; "and not only you didn't see him, but nobody else; and didn't he come walkin' into camp this mornin' and not a soul know it, till he was right amongst us?"

"I don't care if he did, he never could have carried off my pony and I not see him," declared Hal.

"But he did though youngster, as sure's you're a livin boy."

"I'm inclined to think you're right, Jerry; the Comanche has stolen the pony without doubt," said I.

"But how could he?" demanded Hal. "I was sitting right here, close by him all the time."

"Listen Hal, I'll give you a bit of my experience with these same Comanches," said I: "About two years ago, I was sitting on the porch of my ranche, one afternoon, and a couple of Comanches came up and asked for food.

"Manuel, the herder, recognized one of them as a fellow named 'Creeping Serpent,' one of the most expert horse-thieves in his tribe. Naturally enough, I wanted to know how he got the name; and, in consideration of a bright red blanket, he consented to give an exhibition of his skill.

"The animals were all in plain sight, not a hundred yards from the ranche door. I was bound not to lose sight of them, and I didn't; but, in less than half an hour, I saw one of them bounding away over the plain, with an Indian on his back.

"I was so astounded that when the fellow brought the horse back, I made him show me just how it was done; and ever since then, I'm disposed to believe anything relative to the thieving abilities of the Comanches, without question."

"But how did he do it?" persistantly questioned Hal. "He never would have done it before my eyes."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed old Jerry. "Didn't one of the cussid varmints, just play the same trick on you?"

"But I won't admit he's got my pony," declared Hal.

"Tell us please, how he stole your horse, will you?" inquired Ned.

He laid himself flat upon the ground, and crawled through the grass towards the animal selected, using his elbows as the propelling power. This was done so slowly as not to alarm the herd in the least. Upon reaching the picket-pin, he loosed it so that it could be easily withdrawn; all the time taking good care that his head should not appear above the top of the grass.

"He then began to slowly coil the rope, each coil imperceptibly drawing the animal nearer to himself, until it finally stood beside him; then, getting it between him and the ranche, he gradually pulled himself up, and, clinging to its side, by skilful manipulation of the lariat, induced the animal to take an opposite direction from camp, until fairly out of sight or range; when, resuming his proper position on the creature, he galloped rapidly away.

"Having seen how the thing is done Hal, I incline to Jerry's belief,— that the fellow has stolen your pony."

"I can't think that he's got it," said Hal; "and I'd like to take Ned and a couple of the Mexicans, and go out and see if we can't find him."

"We shall probably need everybody in camp putty soon," said Jerry. "Yer see thet dust down thar to the southward, don't yer? Wall, that ain't no whirlwind, ef the wind duz blow; that's Injins, and they're headed right for our camp, too; so we'd better git reddy for 'em, and let the hoss go. Maybe, though, they'll bring him back to yer. I've knowed sich things done afore now," continued he, glancing at Hal.

The Indians were still nearly half a mile away, when Jerry, handing me the glasses through which he had been looking, said, in a low voice,—

"It's jest as I reckoned; there's Hal's pony, and an Injun on him, I'll bet two ter one it's the same cusssed varmint thet was a-sneakin' about camp here, not an hour ago."

There were ten Indians in the party, who, even at that distance, commenced riding around in a circle just out of range of our rifles, yelling furiously, using the most insulting gestures towards us, and daring us to come out and meet them. It was quite evident that the savages had no weapons but their bows and arrows; consequently, did not like to come within range of our rifles. Up to this time, neither of us had fired a shot, and Jerry suddenly went to one of the wagons; and, procuring an old Sharp's carbine, loaded it; and, taking good aim, fired at a group of four or five, that were huddled together on the plain.

To our amazement and delight, we saw one of the number throw his arms up into the air and tumble headlong from his horse to the ground, while the rest instantly scattered; nor did they come together again until they were at least a mile away.

"That was a good one Jerry," cried I. "Give 'em another."

"'Twon't do no good; 'twan't nothin' but luck. I couldn't do it agin in shootin' a dozen times, with this wind a-blowin'," muttered Jerry. "That's enuff to scare 'em to death. They hadn't no more idee I could reach 'em than I had."

"I wonder what they'll do now? They must be going to try that circle dodge," said I, seeing the party separate.

In a very few moments, before either Jerry or myself realized what they were doing, they had jumped from their horses, fired the tall, dry grass to the windward of us, and were scudding away from it as fast as their horses could carry them.

Quicker than thought, the wind caught the flames, that seemed to leap fifty feet into the air, which, in an instant, became so filled with heat and smoke, that suffocation seemed inevitable. We could scarcely see or breathe; and the wind was driving the flames directly towards us.

The wagons, animals, ourselves even, were at their mercy. What could we do to escape the horrible fate that stared us in the face?

Jerry was the first to realize our danger. Starting in the direction of the fire so fast approaching, as he yelled, at the top of his voice,—

"Git ther empty corn-sacks, blankets, anything ter keep ther fire off from ther wagons and critters. Be quicker'n lightnin', thar!" cried he, as he hastily set another fire, not twenty yards from us.

In a second we were fighting the new fire with whatever we could lay our hands upon.

So vigorously did we work, that we succeeded in keeping the flames from our wagons and stock, which, in a few minutes, rolled by us in huge billows of fire.

I never saw a grander sight than the vast blackened, smoking plain, beyond which the flames raged and roared like thunder, while the dense white smoke, settling low down, partially veiled the sunlight and gave a weird, strange appearance, that is indescribable, to the scene.

"The cowardly cusses!" said Jerry, as we paused to take breath from our labors. "They wanted to smoke us out, did they? Well, I reckon, by the looks round, thet maybe they'll have ter huff it putty lively themselves, ef they git away from it. I've heerd of the biters gittin' bit themselves, afore now."

Notwithstanding our misfortune, we could hardly help laughing at the sight of ourselves, as, with blacked faces, singed clothing, and blistered hands, we talked the matter over.

Of course we could do nothing but submit, and console ourselves by wishing that we had the cowardly fellows where we could punish them.

We passed a most uncomfortable night; and, as soon as daylight appeared, were on the road, reaching the "Springs" late in the evening, and the next morning taking up our line of march for Fort Davis. This fort is situated upon Lympia Creek, in Wild Rose Pass, a most lovely canon, through the Sierra Diablo. It is about two hundred feet wide, and carpeted with the richest green sward, while the sides, composed of dark, columnar, basaltic rocks, rise to the height of a thousand feet. Here, cozily nestled in this beautiful dell, surrounded by lofty mountains, we came upon the white walls of the fort.

We encamped within half a mile of the post; and, the next morning, the boys and I rode in to pay our respects to Colonel Sewell, then in command.

The youngsters were delighted with everything they saw, and the sutler's store proved a great attraction for them. They seemed determined to buy out his entire stock in trade, this being their first opportunity to spend money since we left San Antonio.

Colonel Young, the sutler, informed me that a friend from Chihuahua, Don Ramon Ortiz, a wealthy Spanish gentleman, with his daughter and five servants, had been for several days at the fort, awaiting the arrival of some train with which they might travel to El Paso. If agreeable, they would be pleased to accompany us.

I gladly gave assent, and was shortly introduced to the Don. He was a fine-looking gentleman, about sixty years of age, intelligent, and evidently a man of culture. The sickness of his daughter had caused his delay at the fort; but, having recovered, he was anxious to resume his journey.

The young lady proved to be a lovely little body, who spoke English like a native, and was about sixteen years old. Her wealth of raven hair, eyes of jet, and natural pleasant manner made El Senorita Juanita as bewitching a little companion as one would meet in many a day's travel.

From the instant Hal saw her he became a devoted admirer, and, I foresaw, that so long as we travelled in company with Don Ramon, I need not again fear his absence from the train.

One of the officers of the fort came to me, during the evening, with the request that I would permit a young lad to travel through with me to the Pacific coast, saying that he was without money or friends, and it would be a charity if I would allow him to work his passage.

I had but just returned to camp when Ned appeared, bringing with him a bright-looking Irish boy, about sixteen years of age. As he stood twirling his hat, and resting awkwardly upon one foot, I asked,—

"What do you want of me, my boy?"

"Av yez plaze, sur, I'd loike a job."

"What kind of a job?"



"A job ter go to Californy, shure, sur."

"Well, what's your name?"

"Patsey, yer honor; and a very good name it is, too. 'Twas my father's before, me sur."

"Where did you come from?"

"The ould counthry, ov coorse, sur."

"Yes, but where did you come from now?"

"From the foort beyant, sur."

"Well, Patsey, what can you do?"

"Phat can I do, is it? Faix, yer honor, it's phat I can't do yer'd better be axin'! There's nothin' in my loine that I don't understand parfectly, sur."

"Have you a recommendation?"

"What's that, sur?"

"Any paper recommending you."

"Och, it's me characther, is it, yeze afther axin' fur? Will, thin, I've gut it in me pocket, shure;" and, pulling out from the waistband of his pants a well-worn piece of greasy paper, he proceeded to spit on it, "jist for good luck," he said, and then, with a bow and a scrape, handed it to me.

The paper was from Captain Givens, of the Mounted Rifles, recommending the bearer, Patsey McQuirk, as an honest but ignorant boy.

I informed Patsey that his "character" was satisfactory, and I would take him along, bidding him put his luggage in one of the wagons.

He stood looking at me with a comically puzzled expression on his face, and, thinking that perhaps he did not understand what I said, I again told him to put his things into one of the wagons, for we should probably start early in the morning.

"What things'll I put in the wagin, sur?"

"Your baggage,—your clothes," said I.

"Shure, sur, ef I put my clothes in the wagin, it's little I'd hev to wear mysilf," answered the boy.

"Well, well, then, go with Ned; he'll show you what to do."

It had been our intention to start early on the following morning; but, information having been received at the fort that a large party of Comanches had been seen, only two days before, on our direct route, it was thought advisable to wait a short time, in the hope that Don Ignacio and his train might overtake us. Nor did we wait in vain; for, on the evening of the third day, he rode into camp, and announced his train a short distance behind.

This was good news for us, and we immediately commenced preparations for our departure the following day.

Hal begged permission to carry the news to Don Ramon, and I never saw a happier boy than he, at the thought of once more being on the road.

About eight o'clock the next morning we again started, passing through the canon, over a fine, natural road. Two hours later saw the ambulance of Don Ramon, with its six white mules and four outriders, approaching from the direction of the fort, at a pace that promised soon to overtake us.

Hal at once took a position beside the carriage, and, during the rest of the day, hardly left it. I did not interfere until we were approaching our camping-ground, when I sent Patsey back, to say that I wished to see him.

The boy returned, saying,—

"He's a-comin', but he says, kape yer timper."

"What did he say?" inquired I, in no little astonishment.

"He said, Yis, he'd come, but kape yer timper; shure, so he did."

At this moment Hal rode up. I asked him what he meant by sending such an extraordinary message, at the same time telling Patsey to repeat it.

Hal heard it, and burst into a laugh, declaring that he told Patsey to say he would be with me "poko tiempo,"—in a little while—which, as Patsey did not understand Spanish, he had interpreted into "kape yer timper."



The night passed quietly, and, just after sunrise we were again on the road, bound for "Dead Man's Hole," which was our next camping ground. We reached it quite early in the afternoon, and, shortly afterwards, Ned came to me in great glee, saying that he'd shot an antelope, and wanted Patsey to go and help him bring it in.

Away they rushed, and soon returned, fairly staggering under the weight of a fine fat antelope.

I could fully understand Ned's feeling of pride, as the men, one after another, examined the game, and complimented him on his success; for Ned was a great favorite in the camp; but, when old Jerry graciously told him that he was more'n twice as old afore he killed an antelope, the boy's eyes fairly danced with joy.

His greatest triumph, however, was at supper, when he helped Hal to a bountiful supply of the fat, juicy steak. It had been a matter of rivalry between the two, as to which of them would kill the first antelope; and Hal was inclined to feel a little uncomfortable at Ned's victory, especially before Patsey slyly suggested, that, ef he hadn't kilt an antichoke, he'd got a dear beyant, and that was betther than a dozen artichokes.

When I made my usual round of the camp, before going to bed, Jerry was not to be found; so I concluded to sit up until his return.

Half an hour later he came in, informing me that "he'd heerd a coyote bark four or five times rather suspiciously nigh camp, and had been out to reconnoitre, thinkin' p'raps it was an Injun signal; but, havin' seen more or less of the critters prowlin' about, he rekconed it was all right."

Commending him for his care and watchfulness, and, assured by his confident manner that there was no danger, I "turned in," and soon fell asleep. How long I had slept I could not tell, but I was awakened by a sound that sent a thrill of terror to my heart, and caused the blood to curdle in my veins; for it was the terrible war-whoop ringing in my ears, so close and distinct, that it seemed to be in my very tent.

I sprang into a sitting posture, and hurriedly looked about me. I saw Hal's and Ned's frightened faces, then seized my rifle and rushed out. As I passed through the door of the tent, I received a blow that felled me to the earth. When I recovered my senses, I found the camp a scene of dire confusion: every one was hurrying hither and thither, giving orders, and talking in the wildest manner. I caught sight of Don Ramon, bare-headed, barefooted, and half clad, wringing his hands and calling in frenzied tones for his darling Juanita. Hal was talking loudly one minute, and, the next, crying, while Ned was vainly attempting to pacify him.

As Ned appeared to be the coolest person in sight, I asked him the cause of the commotion, and learned that the Indians had attacked Don Ramon's camp, and carried off his daughter and her maid, prisoners.

CHAPTER IX.

As soon as I could get upon my feet, I inquired for Jerry, and was told he was looking after the mules. I immediately sent for him, and he came, accompanied by Don Ignacio, who, hearing the disturbance, had come over to ascertain what it meant. When we could secure the presence of Don Ramon, we learned from him the story of the surprise.



Every heart was moved to pity as the old man, in broken sentences, told us that he had been awakened by hearing his beautiful, his darling, shriek. He had sprung to his feet, half asleep, and seen two Indians tearing her from her bed in the ambulance, while calling upon him for help.

One of the Indians threw her across his horse, and then jumping upon the animal himself, galloped madly off. Another seized her maid in the same way; but she, poor girl, made such a desperate resistance that the savage brutally plunged a knife into her heart, and then, with the rapidity of lightning, scalped her and flung her body to the ground.

Piteously the half-crazed father besought us to rescue his child from the terrible fate in store for her. Offering half—yes, the whole of his immense fortune to any one who would restore her once more to him.

After a hurried consultation, we decided to send a messenger back to the fort to notify the officers, and ask them to send a company of dragoons in pursuit, at once; Don Ignacio offering to dispatch his assistant, a thoroughly trustworthy man, who knew every foot of the country, with the message. While I was writing the note to Colonel Sewall, Hal came to me, and urged strongly to be allowed to accompany the messenger, saying that Don Ignacio thought I should send some one, and had offered to mount him upon one of his best horses if I would permit him to go. I hesitated a long time before consenting; but he pleaded so earnestly, I finally said yes, warning him on no account to leave the travelled road. This he promised, and the two set out.

A short time after they left, we decided to send a party out ourselves, to follow the Indians and recapture the girl if possible, as well as recover the mules stolen. Jerry offered to lead the party in person, provided I would accompany it, and Don Ignacio could be induced to take charge of the camp during our absence. The arrangements perfected, Jerry selected a dozen of the best men; and before daylight, we were in the saddle and on the trail.

All day we rode over rocky mesas or through dense chapparal,—here fording a stream, now thundering over a barren plain, or picking our way through gloomy canons or up steep bluffs.

The sun set; but Jerry did not pause in the pursuit. With his eyes on the ground, and the same eager, anxious expression on his face, he rode as he had ridden all day. Every nerve was strung to its utmost tension, every sense was on the alert. Hardly had he spoken, not once hesitated as to the course, nor for a single instant lost the track we had been following.

At last we came to a little valley, shut in by dark gray rocks and tall mountains. At a signal from Jerry, we dismounted, unsaddled our animals, and partook of a hasty supper; then again took to the trail; penetrating deeper and deeper into the mountain fastnesses, over rocks and through dense underbrush, until at last the shimmer of the waters of a broad river met our gaze, and we paused upon its banks.

It was the Rio Grande; and here we decided to encamp for the night.

A few hours' rest and, just at daylight, we plunged into the water and renewed our search, following the banks for miles; but no trace of the track could we find. Just as we were giving up in despair, one of the party, who was a long distance in the lead, uttered a shout: he had again found the trail. It was evident now, that, in order to deceive any party that might follow them, they had entered the river and followed its bed through the water, nearly ten miles; hoping thereby to successfully hide their course.

We now sent one man back to the point where the trail entered the river, that he might guide the soldiers, whom we every moment expected to arrive from Fort Davis.

It was a useless precaution however, for no soldier came. If we had but known! but, alas! how could we? We waited until twilight came, and then reluctantly retraced our steps, believing it useless to attempt to follow the thieves after so long a time had been given them in which to escape with their prisoners. I was much pleased, however, to hear Jerry express the opinion, that the Comanches would gladly ransom them, and that the only obstacle in the way would be the difficulty in communicating with the band who made the capture; for it seemed probable that they belonged in that, then, almost inaccessible portion of the state, known as the "Pan-handle."

When midnight came and no tidings reached us from the fort, we reluctantly determined to start homeward.

While pursuing our way towards camp, Jerry and myself determined to visit a spring several miles to the east of our course, and then to overtake our party at a point where the trail led over a spur of the mountains, that ran far out into the plain.

We experienced no difficulty in finding the spring; and, after a short rest, filled our canteens with the cool, sparkling water, and started to intercept our friends at the place agreed upon.

Ere we were a mile upon the road. Jerry uttered a low whistle, and said, "Look behind you, will you?"

I turned; and, to my astonishment, not more than a mile away, saw eight mounted Indians; and it was evident from the cloud of dust in which they rode, that they were coming at no very slow gait.

We were not an instant deciding that we had no wish to encounter eight mounted Comanches, well armed, upon the open plain, if it were possible to avoid them.

The ground was a dead level for miles in every direction; and, in a straight line six or seven miles away, we could see the spur of the mountains where we expected to meet our party. If we could only reach that, we were safe.

We had more than a mile the start of our pursuers; but our horses were worn with long travel, while it was evident theirs were comparatively fresh and vigorous; our escape therefore, must be a question of speed and endurance.

"Now," said Jerry, as we shook our reins and put spurs into the flanks of our horses, "set low, and bend in your saddle, take the motion of your horse, and let's git."

And "git" we did. Our animals seemed fairly to fly as we urged them forward. They appeared to understand every word spoken, and to be quite as anxious to escape capture as their riders.

Every ejaculation uttered, every caress bestowed, gave them fresh courage, urged them to greater exertions. Every nerve was braced, every muscle strained to its utmost tension, while their foam-flecked sides said, as plainly as words could say it, "We are doing our level best."

I cast a glance over my shoulder and saw that the Indians were "spread" in the pursuit, but evidently gaining on us. I looked at Jerry and then at the goal, each moment growing nearer, and still so far away that I began to doubt the ability of our horses to continue at the tremendous pace they were going until we could reach it.

Every minute seemed an age.

Jerry's face was a study, as, with compressed lips, and eyes that appeared to fairly flash fire, he bent so low in his saddle as to almost touch his horse's mane. On, on, we sped! Not a word was spoken—not a sound could be heard, save the dull, heavy thud of our horses' feet upon the soft turf beneath us.

Once I fancied I felt my horse waver, as though about to fall; but I spoke sharply to him, and he straightened out, just as a bullet whistled by our heads.

"That's a Comanche sign; you can always tell them devils," muttered Jerry, between his teeth.

A mile farther, and we are safe. Can we make it? Why don't our men see us, and hasten to the rescue?

Another look behind. The Indians were still gaining on us, and I fancied I could hear the breath of their unshod horses, as they thundered after us; but it was only the distressed breathing of our own noble animals, warning us that their strength was almost gone.

Will our friends ever see us? Can we hold out five minutes longer? I hear Jerry mutter something between his closed teeth; and, the next moment, saw a dozen men dash out from behind the rocks.

"We are saved! we are saved!" is my cry. I have just strength enough left to pull up my weary horse, throw myself out of the saddle, and sink upon the ground, when the faithful creature, completely exhausted, reels and falls, as the men thunder past us, in pursuit of the now flying foe.

"Wall," said Jerry, as he dismounted, "thet was a touch and go, and no mistake. I've been chased many a time afore, but never come so near a go, ez this has been. Them critters of ourn are worth a fortune, and no mistake."

We had a good hour's rest, before our friends returned from the pursuit; and then, once more mounting, we set out for camp, which we reached late in the afternoon, to learn that neither of the messengers sent to the fort, had returned, nor had any tidings been received from them.

What did it mean? Could they have been captured?

Don Ramon was almost heart-broken, when he learned the result of our pursuit; and nothing that we could say, afforded him any comfort. His continual cry was, "Give me my daughter! my darling Juanita!"

I was extremely anxious about Hal; and at once dispatched Don Ignacio to the fort, to ascertain the reason of the non return of our messengers; and then, as nothing further could be done, "turned in" for a little sleep, giving Ned directions to call me immediately upon the arrival of Don Ignacio.

Just before daybreak, I was awakened by the startling intelligence, that neither Hal or the messenger had reached the fort; but Colonel Sewell had, upon Don Ignacio's request, immediately ordered a company of dragoons in pursuit of the Indians.

The only inference to be drawn from the facts was, that both Hal and the messenger had been killed or taken prisoners, by a portion of the same band that attacked our camp; and, although myself, greatly depressed by the uncertainty attending their absence, I endeavored to assure Don Ramon, that their capture was extremely fortunate, on his daughter's account, for it would be certain to ensure her safe return to her friends.

This thought appeared to afford the old man a little comfort, and he finally decided, to continue with the train, until we should arrive at El Paso. We got under way about noon; and, with sad hearts, followed the windings of the road through the Canon de los Camenos, and on to the Rio Grande; thence, following the course of the river, to the old Presidio of San Elezario, and so on to Fort Bliss, about one mile below the town of El Paso.

At this post we found Colonel Jim Magoffin, the owner of the train with which we had travelled from San Antonio; and, upon conferring with him, he informed me that Anastacio, who had been captured with Hal, was an old scout who had been in his employ for years. He was not only trustworthy, but thoroughly acquainted with the country, as well as the habits and customs of the Indians; and, if alive, would certainly find means to communicate with his family, who resided near the fort.

The colonel also recommended, that Don Ramon, should endeavor to enlist the Mexican authorities in the matter, in case the Indians, should by any chance have crossed the river with their captives.

We decided, therefore, to remain a few days in camp at El Paso, as this would give our animals an opportunity to recruit, and ourselves a much-needed rest.

I found by carefully watching Ned, that the terrible uncertainty regarding Hal's fate was preying upon his mind to such an extent, that I must do something to rouse him from the apathy into which he had fallen, and for this purpose proposed a visit to the celebrated Stephenson silver mine, in the Organos Mountains, only a few miles distant from the post.

The proposed plan pleased the boy so much, that, accompanied by Jerry, we set out upon our trip.

The first day after reaching the mountains, a severe storm came upon us, so suddenly, that we were forced to take shelter beneath a grove of cedar; and, while waiting for the storm to pass over, Jerry's keen eye discovered, some distance above us, an opening in the rocks, that he surmised might be a cave.

With this idea, we started to explore it. Upon reaching the mouth of the opening, Jerry entered it, and in a few moments reappeared, beckoning for Ned and myself to join him.

Upon reaching him, he said,—"It's a cave, but there's some kind of a critter got possession of it. I reckon it's a bar."

We hastened to secure our animals, and then cautiously entered what appeared to be a large crack between the rocks; but, upon nearing the end of it, we distinctly heard a deep, angry growl.

It was so dark within, that, upon this protest of-its occupant, we deemed it prudent to retreat.

"We've got to git the critter out, someway," said Jerry, "and the sooner we go about it, the better for us."

"Suppose we try smoking him out," said Ned.

"I dunno but that's the best way, after all, youngster," said Jerry. "Hand us the hatchet, and we'll soon have a fire here." We shortly had some splinters from a prostrate pine that lay near, and in a little while a brisk fire was burning, which we covered with pine brush to make the smoke more dense, and then retreated to watch the effect.

In a little time the flame and smoke appeared to die out, and we proceeded to make an examination for the cause. We found that the bear had advanced to the fire, and, with his paws, succeeded in scattering the brands.

"He's an old fellow, and won't be ketched napping," said Jerry. "The only way is to meet him, on his own ground. I'll fix him! You get two or three of them splinters, and light 'em, and foller me."

We cautiously advanced upon Bruin, torches in one hand and revolvers in the other, but his low, angry growl caused us, even then, to hesitate a moment before venturing further.

"Now, you take this 'ere torch, youngster," said Jerry, addressing Ned, "and hold it so you kin see, and then I kin. My narves is steadier'n clock-work, and I'll do the shootin'."

Another forward movement, and another growl saluted our ears.

"Steady, there," said Jerry, "I see him;" and the next instant, he fired.

As soon as the almost deafening reverberations and din, caused by the discharge, had subsided, holding our torches so as to throw the light as far in advance as possible, we entered the cave, and in one corner found a large black bear—dead.

"Hurrah!" cried Ned. "We've got him! Ain't he a noble fellow?"

"Here's room enough for all," said Jerry, as the extent of the cave was made apparent. "We'll get our critters in, and have bar meat for supper, sure." The apartment in which we were standing was about twenty feet square, and nearly as many high, and, in one corner, we found a spring of clear, cool water.

"Nothing could be nicer than this," declared Ned. "I'd like to stay here for a month; it's just splendid," But Ned's enthusiasm soon died out, for we discovered unmistakable evidence that Indians were in the habit of visiting it. We determined to pass the night there, however, which we did without being disturbed, and the next morning again started for the mine, which we reached about two o'clock in the afternoon.

The mine consisted of a horizontal shaft, cut into the mountain-side, that had reached a depth of between two and three hundred feet; the ore being drawn up in large leathern buckets, by mule power, attached to a windlass. Such portions as were deemed sufficiently rich were at once conveyed to the smelting furnace, where the pure ore was melted down and extracted from the virgin fossil. If of inferior quality, it was submitted to the process of amalgamation.

We found much to interest us while examining the working of the mine, which was conducted upon the old Mexican plan. Ned was particularly pleased with the manner of packing the silver, which was in rough cakes, for transportation.

These were placed in sacks made of raw hide, which, when dry, shrunk, and thus pressed the contents so closely, that all friction was avoided. Two of these sacks, each containing about fifteen hundred dollars' worth of the ore, constituted an ordinary mule-load.

We spent the entire day at the mine, watching the process of separating the ore, extracting the gold, roasting, grinding, etc., and the following day returned to El Paso, with the intention of leaving for Fort Fillmore immediately.

As soon as we arrived at this post, in company with Ned, I called upon Lieutenant Howland, then in command, and communicated to him the facts regarding the attack upon, and capture of a portion of our party, and from him learned the startling intelligence that a scout from Fort Stanton, had that day arrived at the post, reporting that, the day previous, he had discovered the fresh trail of a party of Indians near the eastern base of the Organos Mountains, who had with them, three white persons, one of whom, was a woman.

As soon as Ned heard the lieutenant make this statement, he started to his feet, exclaiming, "That's them! that's them! Hurrah! we'll find 'em, sure. Let's start now!" and away he went to carry the glad tidings to the camp.

CHAPTER X.

At my request, the scout was sent for. He proved to be a keen, shrewd Yankee, who had spent the last twenty years of his life, among the mountains of New Mexico.

His statement was clear and concise, and showed a familiarity with Indian manners and habits, that entitled his opinion to great weight. After a long interview, both Lieutenant Howland and myself became convinced that Hal and Juanita were with the party he described. So positive was the lieutenant that he volunteered to send a force in pursuit early on the following morning, with Tom Pope as guide.

When this determination was announced I hastened back to camp to consult old Jerry, and found all assembled around Ned, who was repeating over and over again, the story told by Tom. Even Patsey, whom I had scarcely noticed since he joined the train, was tossing his well-worn cap in the air, catching it upon the toe of a toeless boot, while executing a lively Irish jig, and exclaiming every time he drew a long breath,—

"Whoo-o-o-op! think of it now, will yez! The boss has got the byse, sure. Whoo-o-o-op now, whoo-o-op!"

In fact, all seemed delighted at the idea of our receiving even the meagre information we had obtained at the fort.

As soon as Jerry found a moment's leisure, I gave him a detailed account of the interview with Tom Pope, as well as Lieutenant Howland's opinion regarding it.

He expressed much satisfaction at the Lieutenant's intention to pursue the party, and asked, if I thought the guide would object to his accompanying him on the expedition.

While talking the matter over, we saw Tom himself approaching camp. Jerry at once recognized him as an old Comanche scout, whom he had once met in Texas; and the two were soon upon the most friendly terms. It was understood, that Jerry and myself were to accompany Tom on the expedition, and finally I obtained permission to take Ned along.

I invited Tom to remain and take supper with us, and afterwards, while Jerry was making his preparations for the morrow's expedition, Ned and Patsey asked Tom for a story; but Tom said "he warn't no account at story tellin' and would let that job out to somebody else."

Remembering Jerry's remark, that Tom was a Comanche scout, I asked him if he had had much experience with that tribe.

"Consid'rable," answered he.

"Is it a fact, that the Comanches frequently cook their meat by placing it under the saddle and riding on it all day?" asked I.

"I 'spect 'tis," replied Tom; "leastways, I've seen 'em do it, and done it myself."

"Oh! tell us all about it Tom, will you?" cried Ned.

"Wall, I don't mind telling you about that, youngster, though I ain't much of a story-teller. You just wait till I get my pipe filled, and I'll spin a yarn for you, as they used to say down in New Bedford."

"Be gorra, now, ain't this fun?" exclaimed Patsey, as he and Ned settled themselves in a comfortable position by the fire, to listen to—

TOM'S STORY.

Having filled and lighted his pipe, he began.

"Six years ago this fall, I had been down to Mattamoras on the Rio Grande, and returning home, had camped for the night, in the ruins of an Old ranche on the San Saba. Wall, I was alone and pretty tired. I didn't think nothin' about Injuns, so I went ter sleep; and when I woke up I was a prisoner, with a dozen Comanches caperin' round me."

"I couldn't do nothin', 'cause they'd taken my rifle and my knife; so I jist made up my mind, that I'd better keep still and wait for my chance to come. They tied my hands behind me, and put me on a horse. Then we started, and I soon saw that they had been down into Mexico on a stealing expedition, and had had, good luck; for they had five scalps, and nearly a hundred head of Spanish mares, that they were a-driving home with 'em to their village, which was on the Clear Fork of the Brazos."

"In ten days, we got to within about a mile of their home, and then we halted; and one of the braves, all painted and fixed up in regular war style, started in to let 'em know we were there."

"Pretty soon one of their squaws came out to meet us, and then the Injuns, fixed to a long lance the five scalps they had taken, and we all started for the village, the squaw leading and carryin' the scalp-pole, all the while singing a war-song."

"Just before we got into their settlement we were met by a lot of the women folks, who joined in the procession. Then we went through the village. The squaws danced as they went along and made a great noise, singing songs about the brave deeds of their husbands and sons, who had taken so many scalps and stolen so many cattle."

"I'd been wonderin' all the time what they were going ter do with me. Then we stopped before the chief's lodge,—Tabba-ken, or the Big Eagle, he was called,—and they motioned for me to dismount. I hadn't hardly struck the ground, before I found what they were going to do with me; for would you believe it, every old squaw and pappoose in that village, that had strength enough, flew at me and commenced biting, and kicking, and scratching me. You see I couldn't do much, for my hands were tied, but I made up my mind that Tom Pope would die like a man, even though he never had calculated to be bit and kicked to death, by a lot of Comanche squaws."

"So I jest set my teeth, and stood the pain the best I was able. After a while, they got tired of the fun, and quit; but you never see such a lookin' chap as I was when they got through. Why, there wasn't a spot on me as big as a five-cent piece, that didn't show some kind of a mark. I thought I had a pretty hard time in some of my travels, before, but t'warn't no tetch ter that Comanche village. I was sore for a month after it."

"Arter they'd got through with their fun, they set me to work and kept me at it, till I finally got away from 'em; though they treated me well enough after the first few days. When I got into Phantom Hill, the officers there told me, that they treated me as they always did all their prisoners. I had enough to eat, such as it was, and hain't no complaints to make on that score. They had two Mexican women who were prisoners there, and old Tabba-ken himself had married one of 'em."

"Do they have any particular ceremonies, when they start on the war-path, Tom?" asked I.

"I saw one party start out ter fight the Arapahoes; and I see 'em come back, too," replied Tom.

"One morning I see that a lot of the braves took their bows and arrows, and placed 'em on the east side of their lodges. They was all ornamented and fixed, and set where the sun's first rays should fall on 'em. That night a lot of the squaws commenced going around through the village, singing their war-songs, and making a great noise. They kept it up for three nights, so that I couldn't sleep a wink; and I asked one of the Mexican women what it all meant. She told me, that it was a war-party, getting ready for an expedition.

"I'd suspected as much, when I see the braves a-cavortin' around so lively on their horses, and makin' such a fuss as they did.

"She said, that they worshipped the sun, and their weapons was set out there for the sun to bless, and give them good luck against their enemies. They kept up these doin's for four or five days, and then they had a grand war-dance; and the next morning at sunrise (they always start on an expedition just at sunrise) a party of twenty braves, started off to the north."

"Do they make the squaws work, like the other Indian tribes, Tom?" asked Ned.

"Yes! Injuns is Injuns, wherever you find 'em," answered Tom. "The squaws allers do the hard work, and the men the heavy layin' round and talkin'."

"Oh! be gorra; don't I wish I was a Injin," exclaimed Patsey.

"Well," continued Tom, "after I'd been with 'em a couple of months or so, they kind er got a notion that I didn't care much about gittin' away, and didn't keep a very strict watch over me; so, one night, when I see Carline (that was my old rifle) lyin' by one of the lodges, I made up my mind to scoot. They was havin' a big time that night, gittin' ready for another expedition, and I knew they'd be putty busy. As soon as 'twas dark, I picked up the rifle, and, kind er slowly, made my way down ter where their critters was feedin', and picked out the best hoss of the lot, put a saddle on him, and started down the river towards the fort at Phantom Hill. 'Twas a good hundred miles away; but I made up my mind I'd fetch it, if nothin' happened.

"I rode putty hard all night; and, just after daylight, saw some deer on the prairie, and shot one, never thinkin' that I hadn't another charge for my rifle, and no way of buildin' a fire ter cook with.

"Yer see the Injuns always start a fire by rubbin' two dry sticks together, but I hadn't no time for that, 'cause I wanted to put as many miles as I could between me and ther village. While I was a-wonderin' what ter do, I happened to think about puttin' it under the saddle; so I hunted round and found a sharp stone, and managed to cut some putty fair slices out ev the leg, and clapped 'em under the saddle and rode on.

"I got pretty hungry by noon, so I stopped to let my horse eat a little, and looked at my steaks, and they was cooked just as nice as I ever see steaks cooked in my life; and they was good, too, you bet.

"I made a tip-top meal, and then thought I'd lay down and take a little nap. I slept for an hour or two, and then saddled up, and rode along. Putty soon I happened ter look round, and, blast my picter, ef there warn't eight Comanches a-comin' after me like the very devil.

"I just put the spurs to my hoss; and from the best calculations I could make, I made up my mind thet they'd ketch me in just about ten miles further. I see they was a-gainin' on me, and I hadn't nothin' to defend myself with but a empty rifle, and that warn't no account agin bows and arrows; so I throwed it away, and made up my mind, if wost came to wost, I'd take my chances in the river, 'cause yer see the Comanches never let a prisoner get away the second time. I kept urgin' my hoss, and the critter kep' tryin', but I see he was about blowed, an' 'twarn't no use. I had just concluded I must take to the river, when I happened to look up and see a dozen soldiers coming right towards me. The Injuns see 'em as quick as I did, and the way they turned and put back was a caution to anything I ever see."

"What were the soldiers doing there?" asked Ned.

"Why, they was a scoutin' party out from the post, about twenty miles below where we was. They chased the Injuns, but the devils scattered and 'twarn't no use.

"I went in to the fort with 'em, and stayed thar about a week, and then went down to San Antonio with Major Neighbors, the Injun agent. Afterwards, I heard that the soldiers went up and cleaned the village out, but I don't know nothin' about that.

"There, youngsters, you've hed your story, and I reckon if you're goin' with me to-morrow, you'd better go ter bed and git some sleep, and I'll go back to the fort, and git ready, myself."

Ned was delighted with Tom's story, while Patsey declared that "he'd thry that way of cooking, steak the first blissid thing he did in the mornin',—that he would, sure."

With the first faint streak of light in the eastern sky, our little party were on their way to the fort. We found that Lieutenant Howland had detailed a squad of twenty of the "Mounted Rifles" under command of Lieutenant Jackson, and ordered them provisions, for ten days. They were to start at sunrise, and Tom Pope was to lead them directly to the canon, where he had seen the trail, which we were to follow, until we overtook the thieves.

Promptly, as the morning gun, announced the sun's appearance above the horizon, Lieutenant Jackson, with the dragoons, rode into the parade- ground, ready for a start. The final orders were given, and we fell into line, and rode slowly forth in the direction of the mountains, followed, not only by the good wishes of every man in the post, but by Patsey's brogans, which he threw after us for "good luck, inyhow," with such force that one struck a soldier in the head, and nearly knocked him out of the saddle, much to his surprise and anger, and greatly to the amusement of the spectators.

We struck into a brisk canter, and were soon out of sight of the post and settlements. Our course lay to the east of north, over an elevated, arid plain, covered with a thick growth of prickly-pear, and scrubby mesquite.

The mesquite is a shrub that somewhat resembles our locust. Its wood is hard and close-grained, and its branches bear a long, narrow pod, filled with saccharine matter, which, when ripe, furnishes a very palatable article of food, that is relished both by men and animals.

The principal value of the mesquite, however, is for its roots, which are used for fuel and very fine fuel they make, quite equal to the best hickory.

The plain over which we were now travelling, was more than four thousand feet above the level of the sea. Notwithstanding its immense elevation, it was covered with a peculiar kind of grass called grama, which retains its nutritious qualities throughout the whole year. This grass is sometimes cut by the inhabitants, who use for the purpose a hoe. It will thus be seen, that, on these plains, wood is obtained with a spade and hay secured by the hoe.

A ride of seven hours brought us to the eastern side of the mountains, whose lofty, pinnacled peaks rose above us to the height of more than three thousand feet, strangely and perfectly resembling the pipes of an immense organ, from which fact the Sierra de los Organos takes its name.

As we approached this remarkable range, we found a thick growth of live-oak skirting its base, and could hardly resist the temptation, to enjoy the cool and delicious shade, which their thick branches afforded; but we pushed on, and in another hour reached the entrance to the canon, in which Tom had discovered the Indians' trail. Here we found it necessary to advance with the greatest precaution, as the dark pines and evergreens, growing in the narrow defile, afforded an excellent place for the concealment of our foes.

Jerry and Tom, rode a short distance in advance of the party, and we slowly made our way up the gorge for about four hundred yards, when we came to a large reservoir, or basin, into which the water from a spring high up on the mountain-side, slowly trickled.

The guides examined this place with great care, for Tom declared it had not been disturbed since he left it, two days before. We found evidence sufficient to substantiate Tom's opinion fully, for we discovered the tracks of three white persons, one of whom was a woman. Ned insisted that he recognized Hal's footprints, while Jerry identified the peculiar shape of one of the mule's tracks, by means of a shoe he himself fitted to the animal.

Satisfied at last that we were on the right trail, the lieutenant decided to halt for a short time to feed and rest.

While Ned was strolling about the encampment, he accidentally trod upon a rattlesnake, and the venomous reptile, sounding his rattle, made a spring and fastened his teeth into the boy's pants, just below the knee. I chanced to be looking towards him at the moment, and saw him, without the least hesitation draw his sheath-knife, and sever its head from its body, with one stroke, leaving the head hanging to the leg of his pants. I hurried towards him, but the boy was not in the least disconcerted or frightened, although he could not tell if he had been bitten or not. An examination showed that the fangs of the snake had passed through the cloth and left their imprint upon the leather of his boot-leg, without penetrating it.



We all congratulated him upon his narrow escape, and Lieutenant Jackson told him that few men would have shown more nerve or presence of mind under the circumstances than he had done. Tom Pope asserted the boy was a "born Injin hunter," and old Jerry declared that he was "willing to make a 'ception, so fur as Ned was concarned, though he'd be darned if he'd do it for t'other one; for boys like him hadn't no bizness on the plains, no how."

Once more mounting our horses, we emerged from the cool and grateful shade, out into the burning sunshine of the plain, when, making sure of the trail, our guides started at a brisk canter towards the north-east, followed by the entire party.

The trail was so plain and well-defined, that we were able to ride at a good round pace, which was kept up until long after the sun had set and darkness had fairly encompassed us. Finally we came to good grass, and the lieutenant ordered a halt.

Shortly after unsaddling our horses, Tom came to me, and said, "Be you pretty sure, judge, that them fellers was Comanches, that attacked you?"

I replied at once that I was.

"What makes you think so?" inquired Tom.

Up to this time I had not entertained a thought that they could be other than Comanches. Now that my reasons for the opinion had been asked, I saw that the only cause for it was the fact, that the attack had been made in the Comanche country, and so far towards the interior, that the possibility of their belonging to any other tribe had not entered my mind.

I replied, that I had no other reason for supposing them to be Comanches than the one above given.

"Well," said Tom, "as me and Jerry was ridin' along this arternoon, I found this 'ere thing along side ther trail, so I picked it up ter show yer."

As he spoke, he produced an old, well-worn moccasin, which, at a glance, I recognized as having been made by the Apaches, its shape being entirely different from those manufactured or worn by any other tribe.

For an instant I was speechless, utterly overwhelmed by the terrible revelation.

I thought of the warm-hearted, impulsive Hal, and the winsome, pretty Juanita, prisoners in the hands of the cruel and merciless Apaches, who were never known to surrender a captive alive. Then, as I thought of a worse fate than death, that was in store for the bright, beautiful girl, I thanked God that her old father was spared the anguish that such a knowledge would have caused him.

CHAPTER XI.

As soon as I dared trust myself to speak, I said, in a tone of voice that I was conscious must betray my anxiety to hear my own opinion condemned,—

"This is an Apache's moccasin, isn't it?"

"'Tis, for sartin," said Tom. "No other red-skinned varmint but a devilish Apache, ever wore that moccasin."

"And what do you argue from that, Tom?" inquired I.

"Ther ain't nothin' to argue," sententiously answered Tom. "The gal's been took by the Apaches instead of the Comanches, and that's all there is of it; that moccasin tells the whole story. Ask Jerry. Me and him agreed on that pint, as soon as ever we see it."

"It's surer'n preachin', judge," said Jerry, as he came up to where we were standing; "and there ain't no help for it."

"Well, what can we do, Jerry?"

"Do! foller till we git 'em, if we foiler 'em to hell. We mustn't leave the trail now, till we know the gal's dead, for sartin. She'll be safe, ez long ez they're travellin'; but if they ever git to where they're going,—well judge, I'd rather see the pretty little critter layin' right here, dead, than to meet her, that's sartin."

I immediately sought the lieutenant, and informed him of the terrible facts I had just learned.

"I feared as much from the first," said he, "for during all the years I've been stationed on this frontier, I've never known the Comanches to venture so far 'up country' as this, but have frequently known the Mescalleros to pass through the Comanche country into Mexico. I fear we shall find this to be a band of Mescallero Apaches, but I shall follow them, as long as my men and animals hold out. I have ordered a halt now, because, twenty miles from here, in the direction that we are travelling, we shall come to an extensive deposit of pure, white sand, in which we shall be liable to lose the trail at night; and I want to reach there as near daybreak as possible, so as not to waste more time than is necessary in finding it. We shall rest here until midnight, so you'd better turn in and get what sleep you can."

Midnight found us once more in the saddle, and when, some hours later, we reached the deposit referred to, an examination showed, that, instead of crossing it, the trail skirted its southern edge for a couple of miles, and then took an easterly course towards the Sacramento Mountains, distant about twenty-five miles.

Our course lay in the vicinity of two or three little salinas, or salt lakes, but over an arid, barren plain, destitute of any vegetation, except mesquite chaparral; and about three o'clock in the afternoon, we reached the timber that skirted the base of the mountains.

As the guides, who were some distance in advance, reached the extreme end of a spur, around which the trail led, we saw them pause for a few moments, and then hasten towards us.

Upon reaching us, old Jerry, in a voice husky with emotion, said, "They're there for sartin;" pointing towards the end of the spur.

A retreat to the cover of the trees was instantly ordered, when the guides informed us, that upon reaching the point of rocks, they discovered several animals grazing in the meadow beyond, and that the Indians must be encamped in the immediate vicinity; but in order to make sure, would leave their horses with us, and return and make a reconnoissance.

They returned a couple of hours later, reporting that they had discovered the camp, but owing to its situation, could not get near enough to see into it, without running too much risk of discovery. There was one "wickey-up," [The name given by scouts to Apache huts.] however, made of brush, in which the girl was undoubtedly confined. From appearances they thought the Indians intended to remain there, long enough to recruit their stock, as the grass was very good; and that as soon as it should be dark, they would return and take a closer inspection of the camp. Nothing more remained for us to do therefore, but to "possess our souls with patience" until darkness came.

Now that we were so near the success or failure of the expedition for which we had endured so much fatigue and anxiety, it was impossible to remain quiet. Every moment seemed an hour. Ned was constantly on the move, apparantly unable to remain in one position an instant. He had anticipated accompanying us in the attack upon the Indian camp, but the lieutenant positively forbade it, saying, that he was not only too young, but too good a fellow to be shot by Apaches, that year.

This did not satisfy Ned, however, who came to me to intercede for him, saying, that he wanted so much to be the first one to greet Hal, and had come so far to do it, it was pretty hard to be disappointed then.