Del Norte with gloom in their glances and dark forebodings in their
breasts. Men of less loyal hearts, less prone to the promptings of
humanity, would trifle and stay; spend longer time in a dalliance so
surely agreeable, so truly delightful. Not so the young Kentuckian and
his older companion, the Texan. Though the love of woman is enthroned
in their hearts, each has kept a corner sacred to a sentiment almost as
strong, and perhaps purer. The blood of their slaughtered comrades
cries from the ground, from the sand through which they saw it filtering
away. They cannot find peace without responding to its appeal; and for
this even the fruition of their love is to be delayed. To seek
retribution they must journey on to the settlements of the Del Norte;
not sure of success on arrival there, but more likely to meet failure--
perhaps imprisonment. In this there would be nothing new or strange.
They would not be the first Americans to suffer incarceration without
cause in a New Mexican _calabozo_, and lie there for long years without
trial.

Once more Miranda represents the danger they are about to undergo. It
does not daunt them.

"No matter," is the reckless response. "Whatever be the consequences,
go we will. We must."

Thus determined to start off, after exchanging tender adieus with those
left behind--two of them in tears.

According to promise, Miranda has placed his mules at their disposal,
and on these they are mounted. He has, moreover, furnished them with
spare dresses from his wardrobe--costumes of his native country, which
will enable them to travel through it without attracting attention.

Starting at sunrise, it is still early morning when they reach the upper
plain through the ravine between the two twin mountains. So far Colonel
Miranda accompanies them, as also Don Prospero. There parting, the
refugees return to the ranche, while the travellers strike out over the
treeless waste, which spreads before their faces to the very verge of
vision.

They have no landmark to guide them, neither rock nor tree; but the sky
is without a cloud, and there is a sun in it gleaming like a globe of
fire. To the experienced prairie man this is sufficient for telling
every point of the compass, and they but want one. Their course is due
west till they strike the Pecos; then along its bank to the crossing,
thence west again through the Sierras, and on to Santa Fe.

Keeping the sun slightly on the left shou