all carrying guns, bowie-knives,
and pistols; the first smoking at the muzzles, as freshly fired, the
last held in hand, ready to be discharged as soon as somebody worth
shooting at shows himself.

Entering the open ground ahead of the others, Hamersley and Wilder
glance around in search of this somebody, both thinking of the same.
They see stretched along the sward ten soldiers dead as herrings on a
string, but among them no one wearing the uniform of an officer--
certainly not him they are after.

Their first glance is unrewarded, but their second gives all they seek.
Behind a tent, and partially screened by the trees, three men are in the
act of mounting three horses. One is already in the saddle and moving
away, the other two have just set foot in the stirrup. The roan mounted
is unknown to the pursuers; but his animal is recognised by them. It is
Hamersley's own horse! Of the other two but one is identified, and him
only by Hamersley. He sees Gil Uraga.

A cry from the Kentuckian expresses disappointment. For on the instant
after sighting the Mexican officers the latter have leaped into their
saddles and gone off at a full gallop. A rifle shet might yet reach
them; but the guns of both Kentuckian and Texan are empty. Their
revolvers are loaded to no purpose. The retreating horsemen are beyond
pistol range!

Sure of this, they do not think of firing. And afoot, as all the
Rangers are--having left the horses behind to steal forward--they feel
helpless to pursue for the present. While hesitating, a circumstance
occurs giving Hamersley a hope. The man who has mounted his horse finds
a difficulty in managing him. As a Mexican he sits the saddle to
perfection, but cannot make the animal go the way he wants.

From behind the horse has heard neighing, which he knows to come from
the steeds of his own race, and, knowing this, has resolved to rub noses
with them.

In vain Galvez kicks against his ribs, beats him about the head, and
makes frantic efforts to urge him on. He but rears in the opposite
direction, backing so far as to bring his rider within reach of the
revolver held in the hands of Hamersley. Its crack rings clear--not
needing to be repeated or the cylinder turned. At the first explosion
the soldier is seen to spring from the saddle, dropping dead without
kick or cry, while the steed, disembarrassed, sheers round and comes
trotting towards the place whence the shot proceeded.

In a momen