resence, cheerful as gentle, does much to
remove the gloom from his spirits, caused by the terrible disaster he
had sustained. Long before reaching convalescence he has ceased to
lament the loss of his property, and only sorrows as he reflects on the
fate of his brave followers, whose lives were sacrificed in the effort
to preserve it.

Happily, however, as time passes the retrospect of the red carnage loses
something of its sanguinary hue, its too vivid tints becoming gradually
obscured in the oblivion of the past with the singular surroundings of
the present. Amid these his spirit yields itself to pleasanter
reflections. How could it be otherwise?

Still, with restored strength, his curiosity has been increasing, till
it has reached a point of keenness requiring to be satisfied. He
wonders at all around him, especially the strange circumstance of
finding his old friend and duelling second in such an out-of-the-way
place. As yet, Miranda has only given him a hint, though one pretty
much explaining all. There has been a revolution; and they are
refugees.

But the young Kentuckian is curious to learn the details, about which,
for some reason, the Mexican has hitherto preserved silence. His
reticence has been due to an injunction of the doctor, who, still under
some anxiety about the recovery of his patient, forbade imparting to him
particulars that might have an injurious effect on his nervous system,
sadly debilitated by the shock it has received.

Don Prospero is an acute observer. He perceives the growing interest
which Hamersley takes in the sister of his host. He knows the story of
the Chihuahua duel; and thinks that the other story--that of the
disastrous revolution--told in detail, might retard the convalescence of
his patient. Counselled by him, Colonel Miranda has refrained from
communicating it.

Ignorant of the cause, Hamersley is all the more eager to learn it.
Still, his curiosity does not impel him to importunate inquiry. In the
companionship of such kind friends he can afford to be patient.

Walt Wilder has no curiosity of any kind. His thoughts have become
centred, his whole soul wrapped up in Conchita. The heart of the
colossal hunter has received a shock such as it never had before; for,
as he declared himself, he is in love for the first time in his life.

Not but that he has made love before, after a fashion. For he has
shared his tent with more than one Indian squaw, drank and d