caine, with von mule, has robb, and run vay.
Allons, monsieur, allons!"

I followed the Canadian to the stable with a feeling of anxiety. My
horse--but no--thank Heaven, he was there! One of the mules, the macho,
was gone. It was the one which the guide had ridden from Parida.

"Perhaps he is not off yet," I suggested. "He may still be in the
town."

We sent and went in all directions to find him, but to no purpose. We
were relieved at length from all doubts by the arrival of some early
market men, who had met such a man as our guide far up the river, and
riding a mule at full gallop.

What should we do? Follow him to Parida? No; that would be a journey
for nothing. I knew that he would not be fool enough to go that way.
Even if he did, it would have been a fool's errand to seek for justice
there, so I determined on leaving it over until the return of the
traders would enable me to find the thief, and demand his punishment
from the authorities.

My regrets at the loss of my macho were not unmixed with a sort of
gratitude to the fellow when I laid my hand upon the nose of my
whimpering charger. What hindered him from taking the horse instead of
the mule? It is a question I have never been able to answer to this
day. I can only account for the fellow's preference for the mule on the
score of downright honesty, or the most perverse stupidity.

I made overtures for another guide. I applied to the Boniface of
Socorro, but without success. He knew no mozo who would undertake the
journey.

"Los Apaches! los Apaches!"

I appealed to the peons and loiterers of the plaza.

"Los Apaches!"

Wherever I went, I was answered with "Los Apaches," and a shake of the
forefinger in front of the nose--a negative sign over all Mexico.

"It is plain, Gode, we can get no guide. We must try this Jornada
without one. What say you, voyageur?"

"I am agree, mon maitre; allons!"

And, followed by my faithful compagnon, with our remaining pack-mule, I
took the road that leads to the desert. That night we slept among the
ruins of Valverde; and the next morning, after an early start, embarked
upon the "Journey of Death."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE "JOURNEY OF DEATH."

In two hours we reached the crossing at Fra Cristobal. Here the road
parts from the river, and strikes into the waterless desert. We plunge
through the shallow ford, coming out on the eastern bank. We fill our
"xuages" with care, and give our anima