'em. I
b'lieve the hul clanjamfery o' them spangled jay birds 'ud run at
hearin' a shot. Then we ked gie 'em a second, and load an' fire half a
dozen times afore they could mount up hyar--if they'd dar to try it.
Ah! it's too fur. The distance in these hyar high purairas is desprit
deceivin'. Durned pity we kedn't do it. I fear we can't."

"If we should miss, then--"

"Things 'ud only be wuss. I reck'n we'd better let'm slide now, and
foller arter. Thar boun' straight for the Del Norte; but whether or no,
we kin eesy pick up thar trail."

Hamersley still hesitates, his fingers alternately tightening on his
gun, and then relaxing. His thoughts are flowing in a quick current--
too quick for cool deliberation. He knows he can trust his own aim, as
well as that of his comrade. But the distance is doubtful, and the
shots might fall short. Then it would be certain death to them; for the
situation is such that there could be no chance to escape, with fifty
horsemen to pursue, themselves mounted upon mules, and therewith be
reached without difficulty. They might defend themselves on the mound,
but not for long. Two against fifty, they would soon be overpowered.
After all, it will be better to let the troop pass on. So counsels the
ex-Ranger, pointing out that the prisoners will be carried on to New
Mexico--to Albuquerque, of course. He and his comrade are Americans,
and not proscribed there. They can follow without fear. Some better
opportunity may arise for rescuing the captives. Their prison may offer
this; and from what they have heard of such places it is probable
enough. A golden key is good for opening the door of any gaol in
Mexico.

Only one thought hinders Hamersley from at once giving way to this
reasoning--the thought of his betrothed being in such company--under
such an escort, worse than unprotected!

Once more he scans the distance that separates him from the soldiers,
his gun tightly grasped.

Could their colonel but suspect his proximity at that moment, and what
is passing through his mind, he would sit with little confidence in his
saddle, bearing himself less pompously.

Caution, backed by the ex-Ranger's counsel, asserts its sway, and the
Kentuckian relaxes his grasp on the gun, dropping its butt to the
ground.

The last files, having cleared the gap, are formed into a more compact
order; when, the bugle again sounding "Forward," the march is resumed,
the troop striking off over