own that at
this season the streams abound with caymans and alligators, and that
when the cattle have been once attacked by them, they have no courage to
cross a river after. Their instinct, however, teaches them that
beating the waters insures safety, and many a Mexican horse will not go
knee-deep without this ceremony being performed."

"I see that your cattle are unusually tired in the present case," said
I, "for you have been nigh half an hour here, to my own knowledge."

"Look at that black marc's fore-leg, and you ll see why," said he,
pointing to a deep gash, which laid bare the white tendons for some
inches in length, while a deep pool of blood flowed around the animal's
hoof.

A cry from the Mexican here broke in upon our colloquy, as, throwing
down his pole, he seized his rifle, and dropped upon one knee in the
attitude of defence.

"What is it, Sancho?" cried the Friar.

A few words of guttural followed, and the Padre said it was a large
alligator that had just carried off a chiguire--a wild pig--under the
water with him. This stream is a tributary of the Colloredo, along the
banks of which these creatures' eggs are found in thousands!

My blood ran cold at the horrid thought of being attacked by such
animals, and I readily volunteered my assistance at the single-stick
exercise of my companion.

The Friar accepted my offer without much graciousness, but rather as
that of an unwelcome guest who could not be easily got rid of.

END OF VOL. I.

*****

CHAPTER XXI. A NIGHT IN THE FOREST OF TEXAS

The friar ceased his efforts, and, calling the Mexican to one side,
whispered something in a low, cautious manner. The other seemed to
demur and hesitate, but, after a brief space, appeared to yield; when,
replacing the poles beside the wagon, he turned the horses' heads
towards the road by which they had just come.

"We are about to try a ford some miles farther up the stream," said the
Padre, "and so we commend you to the Virgin, and wish you a prosperous
journey."

"All roads are alike to me, holy Father," said I, with a coolness that
cost me something to assume.

"Then take the shortest, and you'll be soonest at your journey's end,"
said he, gruffly.

"Who can say that?" rejoined I; "it's no difficult matter to lose one's
way in a dense forest, where the tracks are unknown."

"There is but one path, and it cannot be mistaken," said he, in the same
tone.

"It has one great disadvantage,