as though
he understood my situation. The lariat tightened, I felt my body
moving, and the next moment experienced a wild delight, a feeling I
cannot describe, as I found myself dragged out of the sand!

I sprang to my feet with a shout of joy. I rushed up to my steed, and
throwing my arms around his neck, kissed him. He answered my embrace
with a low whimper, that told me I was understood.

I looked for my rifle. Fortunately, it had not sunk deeply, and I soon
found it. My boots were behind me, but I stayed not to look for them,
being smitten with a wholesome dread of the place where I had left them.

It was sundown before I reached camp, where I was met by the inquiries
of my wondering companions. "Did you come across the `goats'?"
"Where's your boots?" "Whether have you been hunting or fishing?"

I answered all these questions by relating my adventures; and that night
I was again the hero of the camp-fire.

CHAPTER SIX.

SANTA FE.

After a week's climbing through the Rocky Mountains, we descended into
the Valley of the Del Norte, and arrived at the capital of New Mexico,
the far-famed Santa Fe. Next day the caravan itself came in, for we had
lost time on the southern route; and the waggons, travelling by the
Raton Pass, had made a good journey of it.

We had no difficulty about their entrance into the country, with the
proviso that we paid five hundred dollars of "Alcavala" tax upon each
waggon. This was a greater extortion than usual; but the traders were
compelled to accept the impost.

Santa Fe is the entrepot of the province, and the chief seat of its
trade. On reaching it we halted, camping without the walls.

Saint Vrain, several other _proprietaires_, and myself, took up our
quarters at the Fonda, where we endeavoured, by means of the sparkling
vintage of El Paso, to make ourselves oblivious of the hardships we had
endured in the passage of the plains.

The night of our arrival was given to feasting and making merry.

Next morning I was awakened by the voice of my man Gode, who appeared to
be in high spirits, singing a snatch of a Canadian boat-song.

"Ah, monsieur!" cried he, seeing me awake, "to-night--aujourd'hui--une
grande fonction--one bal--vat le Mexicain he call fandango. Tres bien,
monsieur. You vill sure have grand plaisir to see un fandango
Mexicain?"

"Not I, Gode. My countrymen are not so fond of dancing as yours."

"C'est vrai, monsieur; but von fandango is tre