he
latter running like a scared hound.

Before he can be overtaken, the trampling of hoofs resound upon the
grassy turf, and the returned lancers, with Roblez and the sentry, close
around the prisoner.

Don Valerian sees himself encircled by a _chevaux de frise_ of lances,
with cocked carbines behind. There is no chance of escape, no
alternative but surrender. After that--

He does not stop to reflect. A wild thought flashes across his brain--a
terrible determination. To carry it out only needs the consent of his
sister. She had rushed between their horses and stands by his side,
with arms outstretched to protect him.

"Adela!" he says, looking intently into her eyes, "dear sister, let us
die together!"

She sees the sword resolutely held in his grasp. She cannot mistake the
appeal.

"Yes; let us, Valerian!" comes the quick response, with a look of
despairing resignation, followed by the muttered speech of "Mother of
God, take us both to thy bosom! To thee we commit our souls!"

He raises the blade, its point towards his sister--in another moment to
be buried in her bosom, and afterwards in his own!

The sacrifice is not permitted, though the soldiers have no hand in
hindering it. Dismayed or careless, they sit in their saddles without
thought of interfering. But between their files rushes a form in whose
heart is more of humanity.

The intruder is Conchita--opportune to an instant.

Two seconds more, and the fratricidal sword would have bereft her of a
mistress and a master, both alike beloved.

Both are saved by her interference; for grasping the upraised arm, she
restrains it from the thrust.

Roblez, close following, assists her, while several of the lancers, now
dismounted, fling themselves upon Miranda and disarm him.

The intending sororicide and suicide is restored to his fastenings; his
sister taken back to her tent; a trooper detailed to stand sentry beside
and frustrate any attempt at a second escapade.

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

AN INTERCEPTED DISPATCH.

While the thrilling incident described is occurring in Uraga's camp, the
Rangers, _en route_ along the banks of the Pecos, are making all the
haste in their power to reach it, Hamersley and Wilder every now and
then saying some word to urge them on.

In pursuit of such an enemy the Texans need no pressing. 'Tis only the
irrestrainable impatience of the two whose souls are tortured by the
apprehension of danger hovering over th