ulse throbbing at ninety to the
minute. He is in the throes of a raging fever, which affects his brain
as his blood.

The stalwart hunter sits down by his side, and stays there, tenderly
nursing him. It glads him to observe there are others solicitous as
himself--to find that he and Hamersley have fallen among friends.
Though also surprising him, as does the sort of people he sees around.
First, there is a lady, easily recognised as the _angel_; then a man of
military aspect, who addresses her as "Hermanita," unquestionably a
gentleman with a second and older man wearing spectacles, by both spoken
of as "el medico." Strange inhabitants for a hovel, as that this should
be in such an odd situation--hundreds of miles beyond the borders of
civilisation, as Walt well knows.

No wonder at his wondering, above all when he discovers that his comrade
is already known to them--to the younger of the two men, who is their
host. This, however, is soon explained. Walt was already aware that
the young prairie trader had made a former trip to New Mexico, when and
where, as he is now told, the acquaintance commenced, along with some
other particulars, to satisfy him for the time.

In return for this confidence he gives a detailed account of the caravan
and its mischances--of the great final misfortune, which explains to
them why its owner and himself had been forced to take to the Staked
Plain, and were there wandering about, helpless fugitives.

To his narrative all three eagerly listen. But when he enlarges on the
bravery of his young comrade, lying unconscious beside them, one bends
upon the latter eyes that express an interest amounting to admiration.
It is the "angel."

In the days that succeed she becomes Walt's fellow-watcher by the
bedside of the sufferer; and often again does he observe similar glances
given to their common patient. Rough backwoodsman though he be, he can
tell them to be looks of love.

He thinks less about them because he has himself found something of like
kind stealing over his thoughts. All his cares are not given to his
invalided comrade; for in the hut is a fourth individual, whose habitual
place is the _cocina_, coming and going, as occasion calls.

A little brown-skinned beauty, half Spanish, half Pueblo Indian, whose
black eyes have burnt a hole through his buckskin hunting-shirt, and set
fire to his heart. Though but little more than half his height, in less
than a week after making h