see it stripped from his skull. That's what I want to see. But where
is it? Where is he? Certainly not among these. There isn't one of
them the least like him. Surely it must be his party, spoken of in his
letter? No other has been heard of coming by this route. There they
lie, all stark and staring--men, mules, and horses--all but him."

The smoke has thinned off, only a thin film still wafting about the
waggons, whose canvas tilts, now consumed, expose their contents--some
of them badly burnt, some but slightly scorched. The freebooters have
commenced to drag out boxes and bales, their chief by a stern command
having restrained them from returning to take the scalps of the slain.
All has been the work of only a few moments--less than ten minutes of
time--for it is scarce so much since Wilder and Hamersley, stealing out
between the wheels, rode off under cover of the cloud.

By this he with the beard, speaking Spanish, has ceased to scrutinise
the corpses, and stands facing his inferior, his countenance showing an
air of puzzled disappointment, as proclaimed by his repeated speeches.

Once again he gives speech to his perplexity, exclaiming:

"_Demonios_! I don't understand it. Is it possible that any of them
can have got away?"

As he puts the question there comes a shout from outside, seeming to
answer it. For it is a cry half in lamentation--a sort of wail,
altogether unlike the charging war-whoop of the Comanches. Acquainted
with their signals, he knows that the one he has heard tells of an enemy
trying to escape.

Hurrying outside the corral, he sees two mounted men, nearly a mile off,
making in the direction of the cliffs. And nearer, a score of other
men, in the act of mounting, these being Indians, who have just caught
sight of the fugitives, and are starting to pursue.

More eager than any, he rushes direct to his horse, and, having reached,
bestrides him at a spring. Then, plunging deep the spur, he dashed off
across the plain towards the point where the two men are seen making
away. Who both may be he knows not, nor of one need he care; but of one
he does, feeling sure it is the same for whom he has been searching
among the slain.

"Not dead yet, but soon shall be!"

So mutters he, as with clenched teeth, bridle tight-drawn, and fingers
firmly clasping the butt of a double-barrelled pistol, he spurs on after
the two horsemen, who, heading straight for the cliff, seem as if they
had