gold and silver. He sprang from his couch and fired his pistol at
random in the darkness at the would-be robber.

Espinosa, for it was he, was wounded slightly, and, being either enraged
or frightened, he stabbed with his keen-pointed stiletto, which all
Mexicans then carried, the young man whom he had invited to become
his guest, and the blade entered the American's heart, killing him
instantly.

The report of the pistol-shot awakened the other members of the
household, who came rushing into the room just as the victim was
breathing his last. Among them was the sister of the murderer, who,
throwing herself on the body of her dead lover, poured forth the most
bitter curses upon her brother.

Espinosa, realizing the terrible position in which he had placed
himself, then and there determined to become an outlaw, as he could
frame no excuse for his wicked deed. He therefore hid himself at once
in the mountains, carrying with him, of course, the sack containing the
murdered American's money.

Some time necessarily passed before he could get together a sufficient
number of cut-throats and renegades from justice to enable him wholly
to defy the authorities; but at last he succeeded in rallying a strong
force to his standard of blood, and became the terror of the whole
region, equalling in boldness and audacity the terrible Joaquin, of
California notoriety in after years.

His headquarters were in the almost impregnable fastnesses of the Sangre
de Cristo Mountains, from which he made his invariably successful raids
into the rich valleys below. There was nothing too bloody for him to
shrink from; he robbed indiscriminately the overland coaches to Santa
Fe, the freight caravans of the traders and government, the ranches of
the Mexicans, or stole from the poorer classes, without any compunction.
He ran off horses, cattle, sheep--in fact, anything that he could
utilize. If murder was necessary to the completion of his work, he never
for a moment hesitated. Kidnapping, too, was a favourite pastime; but he
rarely carried away to his rendezvous any other than the most beautiful
of the New Mexican young girls, whom he held in his mountain den until
they were ransomed, or subjected to a fate more terrible.

In 1864 the bandit, after nearly ten years of unparalleled outlawry, was
killed by Tobin. Tom had been on his trail for some time, and at last
tracked him to a temporary camp in the foot-hills, which he accidentally
discover