ncreased number of our foes. To cut our way through them had
no other signification than to fight the whole party hand to hand; and
we regretted that we had not done so when only eleven were opposed to
us.

A little reflection, however, convinced us that we were in a yet better
position. We might make the attempt in the darkness. Night would
favour us to some extent. Could we succeed by a bold dash in breaking
through their deployed line, we might escape under the friendly cover of
the night, and the confusion consequent upon the melee.

There was probability in this. The boldest was clearly the wisest
course we could pursue. Desperate it appeared. One or other of us
might fall, but it offered the only hope that _any_ of us might get
free, for we knew that to surrender was to be shot--perhaps
worse--_tortured_.

We had but faint hopes of a rescue; so faint, we scarcely entertained
them. I knew that my friends, the rangers, would be in search of me.
Wheatley and Holingsworth would not give me up without making an effort
for my recovery; but then the search would be made in a different
direction--that in which I had gone, and which lay many miles from the
route by the mesa. Even had they thought of sending to the mound, the
search must have been already made, and the party returned from it. Too
long time had elapsed to make any calculation on a chance like this.
The hope was not worth holding, and we held it not.

For some time, Rube and I thought in combination, canvassing the details
of the plan that had offered. After a while, we stood apart, and each
pursued the train of his own reflections.

I declare that in that hour I had more painful thoughts than those that
arose from the peril of my situation; this I solemnly declare.

I have already said, that when I first recognised the leader of the
guerrilla, I experienced an unpleasant suspicion. Since then, I had not
time to dwell upon it--self-preservation engrossing all my thoughts.

Now that I found more leisure for reflection, the dire doubt returned in
full strength, and I bitterly pondered upon it. Need I name the subject
of my wretched reflections? Isolina de Vargas!

Knew _she_ of this? Knew she that Ijurra was the chief of a guerrilla?
Her cousin--sharer of the same roof--she could scarcely be ignorant of
it! Who set him on our trail? Oh, bitter thought! was the hunt of the
wild horse a _ruse_--a scheme--to separate me from my command, an