ver the trees on one side of the
meadow gave evidence of a camp. The baying of dogs came from this
direction, mingled with the sounds of human voices. It was evidently a
camp of the "Jarochos," (guerilleros.)

Suddenly a bugle sounded, wild and clear above the voices of the
singing-birds, a few notes somewhat resembling the dragoon
stable-call. The horses flung up their heads and neighed fiercely,
looking toward the encampment. Presently a crowd of men were seen
running from the woods, each carrying a saddle. The few strays that
had drawn their pickets during the night, came running in at the
well-known voices of their masters. The saddles were flung on and
tightly girthed--the bits adjusted and the laryettes coiled and hung
to the saddle-horns, in less time than an ordinary horseman would have
put on a bridle. Another flourish of the bugle, and the troop were in
their saddles and galloping away over the greensward of the meadow in
a southerly direction. The whole transaction did not occupy five
minutes, and it seemed to Rolfe and his party, who witnessed it, more
like a dream than a reality. The Jarochos were just out of musket
range. A long shot might have reached them, but even had Rolfe
ventured this, it would have been with doubtful propriety. Rumor had
fixed the existence of a large force of the enemy in this
neighborhood. It was supposed that at least a thousand men were on the
Alvarado road, with the intention of penetrating our lines, with
beeves for the besieged Veracruzanos.

"They got off in good time, sergeant," muttered Rolfe, "had they but
waited half an hour longer--Oh! for a score of Harney's horses!"

"Lieutenant, may I offer an opinion?" asked the sergeant, who had
raised himself and stood peering through the leafy branches of a
cacuchou-tree.

"Certainly, Heiss, any suggestion--"

"Wal, then--thar's a town," the sergeant lifted one of the leafy
boughs and pointed toward the south-east--a spire and cross--a white
wall and the roofs of some cottages were seen over the trees. "Raoul
here, who's French, and knows the place, says it's Madalin--he's been
to it--and there's no good road for horses direct from here--but the
road from Vera Cruz crosses that meadow far up--now, lieutenant, it's
my opinion them thieving Mexicans is bound for that 'ere place--Raoul
says it's a good sweep round--if we could git acrosst this yere strip
we'd head 'em sure."

The backwoodsman swept his broad hand toward the