stupid devils! Why should they follow us
_here_?" he demanded, looking furiously around upon the accursed
landscape.

"Indian revenge. We killed too many of them."

"Yes," said Coronado, remembering anew the son of the chief. "Damn them! I
wish we could have killed them all."

"That is just what we must try to do," returned Thurstane deliberately.

"The question is," he resumed after a moment of business-like calculation
of chances--"the question is mainly this, whether we can go twenty-five
miles quicker than they can go thirty-five. We must be the first to reach
the river."

"We can spare a few beasts," said Coronado. "We must leave the weakest
behind."

"We must not give up provisions."

"We can eat mules."

"Not till the last moment. We shall need them to take us back."

Coronado inwardly cursed himself for venturing into this inferno, the
haunting place of devils in human shape. Then his mind wandered to
Saratoga, New York, Newport, and the other earthly heavens that were known
to him. He hummed an air; it was the _brindisi_ of Lucrezia Borgia; it
reminded him of pleasures which now seemed lost forever; he stopped in the
middle of it. Between the associations which it excited--the images of
gayety and splendor, real or feigned--a commingling of kid gloves,
bouquets, velvet cloaks, and noble names--between these glories which so
attracted his hungry soul and the present environment of hideous deserts
and savage pursuers, what a contrast there was! There, far away, was the
success for which he longed; here, close at hand, was the peril which must
purchase it. At that moment he was willing to deny his bargain with Garcia
and the devil. His boldest desire was, "Oh that I were in Santa Fe!"

By Coronado's side rode a man who had not a thought for himself. A person
who has not passed years in the army can hardly imagine the sense of
_responsibility_ which is ground into the character of an officer. He is a
despot, but a despot who is constantly accountable for the welfare of his
subjects, and who never passes a day without many grave thoughts of the
despots above him. Superior officers are in a manner his deities, and the
Army Regulations have for him the weight of Scripture. He never forgets by
what solemn rules of duty and honor he will be judged if he falls short of
his obligations. This professional conscience becomes a destiny to him,
and guides his life to an extent inconceivable by most civilians. He
a