s, left the outfits to get on as best they might,
and spurred away with his little band to his partner's relief.

Loving had a close call the day after Jim left. The Comanches had
other plans to carry out, or perhaps they were grown impatient. In any
event, they crossed the river and raced up and down the bluff, firing
beneath their horses' necks. It was a miracle Loving was not hit; but,
lying low and watching his chance, he returned such a destructive fire
that the Comanches were forced to draw off. The afternoon passed
without alarm. As a matter of fact, the remaining Comanches had given
up the siege as too dear a bargain, and had struck off southwest toward
Guadalupe Peak.

When night came, Loving grew alarmed over his situation. Jim might be
taken and killed. Then no chance would remain for him where he lay.
He must escape through the Indians and try to reach the trail at the
crossing in the big bend four miles north. Here his own outfits might
reach him in time. Therefore, he started early in the night, dragged
himself painfully up the bluff, and reached the plain. He might have
lain down by the trail near by; but supposing the Comanches still
about, he set himself the task of reaching the big bend.

Starving, weak from loss of blood, his shattered thigh compelling him
to crawl, words cannot describe the horror of this journey. But he
succeeded. Love of life carried him through. And so, late the next
afternoon, the afternoon of the day Goodnight started to his relief,
Loving reached the crossing, lay down beneath a mesquite bush near the
trail, and fell into a swoon. Ever since, this spot has been known as
Loving's Bend. It is half a mile below the present town of Carlsbad.

At dusk of the evening on which Loving reached the ford, a large party
of Mexican freighters, travelling south from Fort Sumner to Fort
Stockton, arrived and pitched their camp near where he lay But Loving
did not hear them. He was far into the dark valley and within the very
shadow of Death. Help must come to him; he could not go to it.
Luckily it came.

While some were unharnessing the teams, others wert out to fetch
firewood. In the darkness one Mexican, thinking he saw a big mesquite
root, seized it and gave a tug. It was Loving's leg. Startled and
frightened, the Mexican yelled to his mates:

"_Que vienen, hombres! Que vienen por el amor de Dios! Aqui esta un
muerto._"

Others came quickly, but it was not a