sworth followed, and disappeared from my
view at the same spot.

Hoping I might still be able to prevent the shedding of blood, I
descended hastily from the azotea, mounted my horse, and galloped down
the hill.

I reached the edge of the woods where the two had gone in, and followed
some distance upon their trail; but I lost it at length, and came to a
halt.

I remained for some minutes listening for voices, or, what I more
expected to hear, the report of a pistol. Neither sound reached me. I
heard only the shouts of the vaqueros on the other side of the hill; and
this reminding me of my duty, I turned my horse, and rode back to the
hacienda.

There, everything was silent: not a face was to be seen. The inmates of
the house had hidden themselves in rooms barred up and dark; even the
damsels of the kitchen had disappeared--thinking, no doubt, that an
attack would be made upon the premises, and that spoliation and plunder
were intended.

I was puzzled how to act. Holingsworth's strange conduct had
disarranged my ideas. I should have demanded admission, and explained
the occurrence to Don Ramon; but I had no explanation to give; I rather
needed one for myself; and under a painful feeling of suspense as to the
result, I rode off from the place.

Half-a-dozen rangers were left upon the ground with orders to await the
return of Holingsworth, and then gallop after us; while the remainder of
the troop, with Wheatley and myself in advance of the vast drove, took
the route for the American camp.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

RAFAEL IJURRA.

In ill-humour I journeyed along. The hot sun and the dusty road did not
improve my temper, ruffled as it was by the unpleasant incident. I was
far from satisfied with my first lieutenant, whose conduct was still a
mystery. Wheatley could not explain it. Some old enmity, no doubt--
both of us believed--some story of wrong and revenge.

No everyday man was Holingsworth, but one altogether of peculiar
character and temperament--as unlike him who rode by my side as acid to
alkali. The latter was a dashing, cheerful fellow, dressed in
half-Mexican costume, who could ride a wild horse and throw the lazo
with any vaquero in the crowd. He was a true Texan, almost by birth;
had shared the fortunes of the young republic since the days of Austin:
and was never more happy than while engaged in the border warfare, that,
with slight intervals, had been carried on against either Mexican or