ere again embroiled with the
Indians. War to the knife was declared and carried on; red and white
killed each other on sight. When two men met upon the prairie, the
colour of the skin determined the relations between them! If they
differed in this, the were enemies without parley, and to kill the other
was the first thought of each. The _lex talionis_ was the custom of the
hour.

If the rancour could possibly have been augmented, an incident had just
transpired calculated to produce that effect. A band of Comanche
warriors had offered their services to the commander-in-chief of the
American army. They held the following language:--

"Let us fight on your side. We have no quarrel with you. You are
warriors: we know it, and respect you. We fight against the cowardly
Mexicans, who robbed us of our country. _We fight for Moctezuma_!"

These words, uttered along the whole northern frontier of Mexico, are
full of strange import.

The American commander prudently declined the Comanche alliance; and the
result was the bitter _triangular_ war in which, as already noticed, we
were now engaged.

If, then, the approaching horsemen were Indians of the Comanche tribe,
Rube's forecast was correct; we had "got to fight."

With this understanding, we lost no time in putting ourselves in an
attitude of defence.

Hastily dismounting, and sheltering our bodies behind those of our
horses, we awaited the approach of the band.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

GUERRILLEROS.

The manoeuvre had occupied only a few seconds of time, and the horsemen
were yet distant. They had thrown themselves into a formation, and
_were riding_ "_by twos_!"

This movement took us by surprise. The tactics were not Indian:
Comanches never march in double file. The horsemen could not be
Indians. Who, then?

A sudden hope crossed my mind, that it might be a party of my own
people, out in search of me. "By twos" was our favourite and habitual
order of march. But no; the long lances and streaming pennons at once
dissipated the hope: there was not a lance in the American army. They
could not be "rangers."

Comanches on the _war-trail_ would have been armed with the lance, but
clearly they were _not_ Comanches.

"Wagh!" exclaimed Rube, after eyeing them intently. "Ef thur Injuns,
I'm a niggur! Ef thur Injuns, they've got beards an sombrayras, an thet
ain't Injun sign nohow. No!" he added, raising his voice, "thur a gang
o' yellur-bellied Mexi