altogether forgotten.

Good luck their being saddled and bridled now. So think Uraga and
Roblez as they rush towards them. So thinks Galvez, who is also making
to mount one. The sentry has forsaken his post, leaving the marquee
unguarded. When a lover no longer cares for his sweetheart, why should
he for a captive.

And in the _sauve-qui-peut_ scramble there is rarely a regard for rank,
the colonel counting for no more than the corporal. Obedient to this
levelling instinct, Galvez, who has arrived first on the ground, selects
the best steed of the three--this being the horse of Hamersley.

Grasping the bridle, and jerking it from the branch, he springs upon the
animal's back and starts to ride off. Almost as soon the two officers
get astride, Roblez on his own charger, the mustang mare being left to
Uraga. From her mistress he must part thus unceremoniously, covered
with ignominious shame!

The thought is torture, and for a time stays him.

A dire, damnable purpose flashes across his brain, and for an instant
holds possession of his heart. It is to dismount, make for the marquee,
enter it, and kill Adela Miranda--thrust her through with his sword.

Fortunately for her, the coward's heart fails him.

He will not have time to do the murder and remount his horse. The
Rangers are already in the open ground and rushing towards him, Wilder
and Hamersley at their head. In a minute more they will be around him.

He hesitates no longer, but, smothering his chagrin and swallowing his
unappeased vengeance, puts whip and spur to the mustang mare, going off
as fast as she can carry him.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.

DIVIDED BY DUTY.

But for a half-score men lying dead along the earth, their warm blood
welling from wounds where bullets have passed through their bodies, the
gory drops here and there like dew bedecking the blades of grass, or in
fuller stream settling down into the sand--but for this, the too real
evidence of death, one who entered the camp of Uraga as the Mexican
Colonel is riding out of it might fancy himself spectator of a pantomime
during the scene of transformation. In the stage spectacle, not quicker
or more contrasting could be the change.

The gaily-apparelled lancers, with their plumes, pennons, and tassels,
representing the sprites and sylphides of the pantomime, are succeeded
by men who look real life. Big bearded men, habited in homespun; some
wearing buckskin, others blanket coats;