it was Black. The raven had scented the slaughter from afar! He was coming to meet us, and had turned the spy from the ridge.

Our horses were strained to the top of their mettle. There was no more shouting; every faculty was wrought into the intensity of the exciting chase. We were all in a body now, and our pace began to tell in lessening the half-mile; the woods we were making for began to grow more distinct, and by the time the trunks stood out separately, we were within a hundred yards of him. Now the lash flew, and every nerve was strained.

"Look there," said the Colonel, pointing to a flock of buzzards, perched upon a tree; that shows their camp! We've

got 'em at last!"

And with a savage oath he jerked his hat from his head, put it under his seat, and looked at his gun; and, with a stunning whoop-for we now saw their horses, which had heen turned loose to graze-Black, who was ahead, fired at the poor spy, for we had got all out of him we wanted; and trampling over his writhing body, we swept like a thundergust through a line of bushes into an open space surrounded by thickets. And there were about fifty men springing from the ground where they had been lying, and in every attitude and expression of fright, surprise and consternation-some stopping to fire at us-others running on their hands and feet, rolling and plunging into the bushes.

I remember seeing Black throw himself over his horse's head among them first, and like a frantic wild beast strike right and left with his long rifle-barrel, crushing in a skull at every blow, and then disappear raging through the bushes in pursuit of three or four huddled and scrambling wretches.

It was, throughout, a terrible and rapid scene-the ring of rifles and roar of the Mexican musket-the dismounting-the clubbed guns-the fight hand-to-handthe scream for mercy, smothered in the death-groan-the crashing through the brush the pursuit-every man for himself with his enemy in view-the scattering on every side-the sounds of battle dying away into a pistol-shot here and there through the wood, and a shriek -the collecting again, and the shouts of laughter as one man after another would come panting into the clear place with the trophies of his slain, or without them, as it happened.

Black came tumbling out, covered with gore and sweat-his eyes glaring wildlyhis dripping knife in one hand-his riflebarrel, bent and smeared with brains and hair, in the other-his pistols still in his belt, untouched. He threw himself sullenly upon the grass, his head resting on the body of a dead Mexican-jerked the wolf-skin cap down over his swarthy brow, and in an instant was as still and silent as the corpse. Nobody spoke to him, and the reckless, unseasonable mirth was for an instant checked, as we all turned silently and looked at him.

The Colonel was the last to come back, and came with bloody hands, foaming and stamping with rage, for Agatone had not been found, and had probably escaped!

We lost sight, in the headlong action of the incidents last described, of our long-sided friend, Bill Johnson. So soon as all were assembled, we missed him, and some one shouted

"Where's Bill, the old coon, gone to? He wa'n't born to be killed by a Mexi

can, sure!"

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Here one of the men sprang forward, with an exclamation of pain, rubbing the calf of his leg, from which the blood was streaming. We had all been grouped near the body of a Mexican, who seemed to be dead. His hand clutched a bloody knife-the last spasm was on him, and the death-rattle in his throat, when we turned; he had made one dying blow for vengeance.

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That d-d yaller-belly is playing possum," said the Colonel. "Kill him!"

"He won't play possum any more." said the bravo, quietly drawing a bead on him with his pistol, which he fired, and blew out the smoke as coolly as if he had been practicing at a mark.

The Colonel turned him over with his foot. The man was dead before the shot. "There, Bravo! you've lost a load! Jim," said he to the wounded man, "split his shirt off, to tie up that scratch with." So these hard men talked, and joked, and laughed, as if death were a bridegroom, and his seeming in the body of a Mexican a merry masking!

We found, on comparing notes, that thirteen Mexicans had been killed, but no prisoners taken; for it was war to the knife with these robbers. The dense thicket around their camp had favored the escape of the rest. We collected together their horses, and the plunder they had left behind. The muskets the men broke and threw away; the saddles, and indeed all the horse equipments, were very handsome, and the party valued them exceedingly. All the frontier Americans prefer Mexican horse-furniture to their own. It is the most complete and admirable I have ever met with, and is the only point in which the Mexicans excel, except in the use of the short knife. These things, and the horses, were distributed by lot, after having been divided into as many equal shares as there were men, reserving one a-piece for Bill and the spies. When Black was called upon to choose, he merely shook his head and groaned. Each man had stripped the person of his enemy as he fell of whatever was valuable to him, and then left him for the buzzards and wolves. Several of the men had been slightly wounded, but hats and horses suffered more than our bodies; for the Mexicans, as usual, shot everywhere else but in the right place. Amid a great deal of loud talking and merriment, at the expense of the marksmanship of the poor wretches, the ghastly ceremonial of "casting lots

for the garments of the slain" was got through with at last; and with the price of blood gathered together in transportable order, we started on our return, and could hear the sharp snarling and see the battles of the wolves over the dead before we were two hundred yards off. I do not wonder that superstition has chosen these vile animals as the favorite agents of her most horrible legends. There is a sneaking malignity about the tawny front, "Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,"

mingled with a fell sagacity leading them with almost infallible certainty in the wake of slaughter, which is very well calculated to awake strange associations in those who observe them on their native wilds.

It was impossible for me to get rid of the idea that they must have been glaring out upon us, with their green and charnel eyes, from the dark thickets, as we rode past that morning, and read with wizard shrewdness in our flashing arms and on our brows, through all the mockery of merriment, that human passions were forth upon the chase of death, and that they grinned their white tusks and lapped their thirsty jaws in fierce exulting over the feast of blood to come, and slunk, and watched, and crawled upon our trail, and sent the jolly tidings round to all their hungry brothers, that they might be in at the revel! How they must love Sure it was in the man of blood!

recompense for this they came that night in bands around our camp, to lull our dreams with pleasant roundelays, and wailed such horrid choruses as

"Blue meagre hag, nor stuborn ghost," "Nor goblin, nor swart fairy of the mine," heard ever yet resound, that they might foot it by beneath the "visiting moon," or the black, dripping arches of deep caverns!

Black had long since left us, galloping off by himself. We had ridden several hours on our return, and were beginning to near the gorge where we had crossed the river, when Hays, pointing suddenly towards the sky, said

"Look, boys! there is news!"

I looked, and could see nothing but a thin column of smoke that shot up to mingle with the clouds.

"How is that news?" I asked.

"Ha, ha! Kentuck," said Fitz, "you're a poor benighted being. As yet, you

'see through a glass darkly,' and a green one at that. Don't you know that is what the old saying, I smoke you,' for I understand, I've found you out, comes from? That's a telegraph, sir! sent up, I suppose, by Bill, to let the Colonel know that he has caught his 'otter !" "

"But how can you know it is Bill?” "Oh," says Hays, "we've seen Bill's smoke too often, not to know it as well as we know his long tracks, or his whoop."

"Yes," said Fitz, "Bill's a great artist at getting up a smoke. He'll smoke you the Mexicans or Comanches-good news or bad news by throwing on an armful of green moss to make a very black column when the Old Harry' himself is to pay in person, or simply a handful when it's only one of his young ones out, or dry sticks when he would merely say, Here I am! It's well to keep your 'gaze turned heavenward' when Bill is scouting for Comanches; for when he discovers them he sends up a dark puff that lasts about ten seconds, and looks like a whiff from the sulphur-pipe of 'the gentleman in black.' He says it don't do to favor the Comanches by smoking long, for the'r glimpsers is tar

nal keen!"

We soon rounded an angle of the valley, which brought us in sight of the river from the top of its shelving bank. About half-way down to the water, on a projecting rock, the gaunt, leather-clad figure of Bill was stretched. He was leaning on his elbow, with his gun between his legs, and slowly dropping dry sticks into a small fire that burned before him. He was on his feet in an instant as the sound of our horses' feet reached his ears. We galloped down the hill, with cheerings and shouts, and were soon dismounted around the old felloweverybody talking, and nobody listening, Perfectly unmoved, Bill looked round upon us all with a stare of something like astonishment, that anything could possibly happen in the world worth talking so fast about; for the party, anticipating fun from his disclosures and manner of making them, had thrown off the impassiveness common to such men, for a mischievous motive.

"Pish, boys!" said he at last; "ye'r jest like a litter er otter pups slid'n down

a bank, ter ker-slowsh in the water! I'm 'shamed er ye. If I'd er killed old wooden-leg,* I wouldn't er made all this kerousin' tu it!"

"Well, but, Bill," laughed Fitz, "what's become of the otter' you went after? We've got our pelts-where's yours, old wolf-dog? You've no right to show your teeth!"

་་

Yes, where's the fur, Bill? where's the fur?" was shouted around him.

"I reck'n this ere'll count tu fur," said he, slowly drawing from his bosom a gold cross-hilted Spanish stiletto. "I don't stink up my fingers a skinning up such varmints! Here's the brush ter show!" "Colonel!" shouted the Bravo, "he's got him! Now for your coffee-cup!" "Now for the eyelet-holes !" said Fitz. "Blazes and hell! you haven't kill'd him, Bill?" growled the Colonel, in an angry, disappointed voice.

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What's the matter now, Colonel "" shouted every one, in astonishment. "I wanted to do that myself," said he, sulkily.

"Nateral enough," said Bill. "But I can't say, Kern, as I should er tied him tu bring him in tu ye! I'd a kinder hankerin' that way myself!"

"What! didn't you get him at last?" exclaimed several at once. "Whose fine frog-sticker is that?"

"Now, boys," said Bill, coolly taking his seat on the rock, "If yer'll jest make yerselves easy, and don't bother me with talkin', I'll tell yer all about it-the tarnalest strangest thing as ever com❜d in my knowin'!"

There was a general settling down on all sides at this.

"Out with it, old slow-track ! You nosed up Agatone, did you, and he got away?" said Fitz, mischievously.

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Thar ye go, yer Irish spread-mouth," said Bill. Shut up your bone-trap, will ye?"

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Well," commenced Bill, “I took on considerable 'bout losing that ere trail last night. Thinks I-Bill Johnson oughtent'ter be flung out by such a little dried monkey. So I takes old Sue, and sneaks off up the river, for I seed them tracks in the water was goin' up stream. Thinks I, up one side and down the other, fur enough, and I'll find his mark. So I went on up 'bout five miles, til! I passed all yer tracks whar ye made galloping up

"Er wadin' all this way up that cussed river, where a decent horse can't cross, 'cept 'casionally. 'Bout a half-mile further on, I seen some drift-wood tolerable near cross the river. Thinks I, now yer begin to make figures whar I can count. Sure enough, two horse-tracks were comin' out o' the water! I foller'd 'em awhile, till they stops and tramps 'round considerable; then one takes square off ter th' right-t'other keeps up the bank. I follers the one out, till I comes to a loose horse, hurt mightily behind with a big ball, Kern, like six-shooter!"

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The Colonel nodded, and Bill went on: I goes back to the bank, and tuck th' single track, 'Twas on this side. I follers it 'bout a mile, when, what do ye think, boys! a trail comes in, straight from the Ranchos; and they stops there together considerable, for both their horses dunged, and it war both the same age; and there war a man's track on the ground. Thinks I, swappin' double. That's Agatone! It's a little track-got one of six-shooter's pills in him-can't ride alone! But who th' darnation war that feller who struck in ?"

"Colonel," said Hays quietly, "wasn't Davis about when we left your Rancho?" "Yes. I wanted to kill him the day he come, but the boys wouldn't let me!" Nothing more was said, but a cold scowl settled upon the faces of the men, and they gripped their rifles hard, till their knuckles grew white; while Bill went on with his story:

"They kept on, 'longside. I followed till the trail war come to Big-Bend bottom. I was sneakin' 'long through the timber, when I heard men talk-couldn't see 'em for the bushes; and there war 'twixt me and them a cussed swamp bayou with an old log 'cross it. Thinks I, now for it! Bill Johnson's here, and old Sue! So I takes the old log. It did look kinder 'spicious, but there wa'n't no other way. Cudjump, I went, into the black mud and green water; the cantankerous log snarled right in two. The fellers hearn it, and broke. I seen a glimpse of 'emthere war three-one ridin' behind. You know, boys, I'm somethin' on my pegs. So I shuck the stink off, and twoddled through them brush, a little particular. I don't mind horses in runnin'. In 'bout

a mile I glimpsed 'em ag'in. I seen whar they were makin', and headed 'em. Thar war but two-goin' like streaks through the trees. Old Sue winked at the hinder one, and he jumped astonishin', clean up out o' the saddle! T'other one had somethin' red on his cloak, and maybe he didn't skoot! The feller had done kickin', as usual for old Sue, when I got to him, and couldn't tell no tales. But he wa'n't Agatone! nor the other wa'n't— for he war taller. Whar on earth the little weasel-face could a' got to, is more nor I can tell!"

This created considerable stir in the party, who drew long breaths, and shifted their positions; while Fitz interrupted him maliciously with

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What, Bill! haven't you got the green out of your eye yet? Why, they pushed him up a tree, to be sure!"

"Thar ye ar' ag'in, ye waw-mouthed bog-trotter! May ye be chased to death with a snake-skin to yer tail! Don't ye know Bill Johnson thunk o' all that? I tuck this thingamy out o' his bosom, and went back on the trail to where I tuck across. Thar wa'n't no sign whar they had stopped close to a tree to shove him up, nor no tracks whar he'd tuck the ground! Bill Johnson looked, and thar war no mistake! Tarnation take me if I can see any way he'd got off, 'less he flew! That old devil's squaw, Cavillo, rid him off on her broomstick-that's how it war!"

Bill said this with such solemn earnestness, that Fitz and myself burst into a loud laugh.

Shet yer purtater-trap, will ye? Kentuck, I thought ye war better mannered! It's no laughin' matter, boys. I tell ye, Bill Johnson believes it. She looks kinder stewed, anyhow, as if all the juice war dried up, drinkin' hot sulphur; and she's got evil fire in her eyes, that's red like old Sue's mouth when she speaks. Ain't it so, Kern?"

"Yes; and I'll ease her down to old Split-hoof's hug, some of these days, so that she'll stay there! Bill, this is a deuce of a strange tale! What do you think of it, Hays?"

"I think so, too! If it had been anybody else but Bill trailing, I should have thought, with Fitz, that they had just stuck Agatone up in a tree, among the moss, and galloped on. But Bill looked, and if Bill is stumped, none of us could have done anything. The little rascal's smart, sure! He's thrown out the best

trailer ever I saw twice in twenty-four hours-wounded, at that! But, Colonel, that red on the cloak proves it was Davis that helped them. Bad business!"

“There now, Kentuck,” said the Colonel to me," if you hadn't been so handy with your humanity, it would have saved us the trouble of killing that cur now." "But would have spoiled my fun," said the Bravo. "I've a curiosity to see if I can't split a bullet on his sharp nose!" "That's a new mark of yours, Bravo," said Fitz. 66 It's snuffing the snuffers instead of the candle!"

A general guffaw followed this sally of Fitz, and we all rose to start. The spies and Black now came galloping down the hill, and Castro with them, and a moment after the Lipans were around us. Castro was nearly out of his wits with delight at seeing Hays and the Colonel. I was delighted, too, at the dignified modesty with which Hays received his extravagant caresses. There was something fresh and touching to me in the unsophisticated joy of this child of nature at meeting these men, to whom he considered himself indebted for all his warrior-training and reputation with his tribe. Hays, especially, he seemed to look up to as a higher order of being, and with almost Oriental deference in his fondness. He wore two scalps at his belt, and there were several others among his warriors, as well as a number of wounded. Their persons, arms and horses all showed that in the "four times sun go," which he said must elapse before we saw him again, he had been at rough work. The faithful fellow had been true to his promise about our horses, and, with an exulting look at the Colonel and myself, he ordered one of his braves to lead them to us. I was right glad to get Sorrel again; for passing strong is the love one learns to bear the noble steed who has been the patient, honest friend, the companion

"His corporeal motion governed by my spirit"

through many a weary day of solitary peril. There is an intuition of human thoughts and emotions about these animals, that is most striking-a prompt sympathy in the finer specimens of them almost marvelous. Stormy passions in the rider dash an electric inspiration through their big veins, and swell the pulsing arteries to turgid throbbing-light with fires as angry as their large eyes,

and all convulse the quivering muscles— till they will laugh with neighings in the hurricane of battle, and shake, like beasts with fangs, fragments dripping from their bloody jaws-for that red wine makes them drunk, too, and mad; and then, if you be merry, how with pricked ear and airy capricoling his light movement chimes your humor; and when you are sad and thoughtful, how sober, steadfast and demure he stalks, with measured tread, and drooping crest, and contemplative eye, guarded, as though he feared to break the subtil thread you spun to weave in woof of midnight, or of beams. Glorious animals, I love them! and have seen in them traits of courteous chivalry far beyond the soul-girth or the ken of those who are their tyrants. Sorrel recognized me. He was evidently something the worse for the wild companionship and usage of the few days past. Horses never forget a considerate friend, which is more than can be said of the animal which claims to be the nobler. I thought the joy the Colonel exhibited on recovering his old favorite horse quite a redeeming trait in his character.

It was promptly proposed by Hays to make this new and unexpected addition to our forces available in ferreting out the mystery of Agatone's escape, and fixing, if possible, the proofs of his treachery upon the miscreant Davis. Bill was to take them to the trail, and it was hoped that their numbers and singular sagacity might be able to accomplish what even his unerring skill had failed to do. Black was to accompany them. During all the foregoing scene, I had observed him sitting on his horse, apart-his bent and broken rifle resting across the saddle before-his hand, stiff with dry gore, clutching it convulsively-his chin resting upon his breast-while now and then his flaming, blood-swollen eyes would throw out a light from under his thick brows, as he glanced suddenly at the scalp hanging at Castro's belt, to be withdrawn as

Castro,

quickly while his hairy lips would quiver with low mutterings. after giving us, in picturesque language and actions, a short sketch of his fight with the Comanches, which, it seems, had been a sharp one, set off, under the lead of Bill, with all his warriors, up the river, while we started on the direct route for the Colonel's Rancho. A sharp ride brought us in sight of it. A horse was standing hitched to the picket; and as we rode up to dismount, who should