on as the confusion passed,
and I could reflect more clearly, the course I ought to pursue was at
once apparent. Vengeance I had felt as the first impulse, and a strong
desire to follow up the fiend Ijurra--night and day to follow him--
though the pursuit should lead me into the heart of the hostile ground.

This was but a momentary impulse: vengeance must be stifled for the
time. A path was to be taken that widely diverged from that of the
retreating guerrilla--_the trail of the white steed_.

Mounting Cyprio, and choosing from my band half-a-dozen of the best
_trackers_, was the work of a moment. In another, we were in the
saddle; and descending the hill, we plunged rapidly through the stream,
crossed the skirting timber, and soon rode out upon the open prairie.

Under Cyprio's guidance, we found the spot desecrated by that cruel
display. The ground was trampled by many hoofs; fragments of paper--
powder-blackened--broken rocket-sticks, and half-burnt fuses, strewed
the sward--the pyrotechnic _reliquiae_ of the fiendish spectacle.

We halted not there. By the aid of our guide and the moonlight, we rode
clear of the confusion; and taking up the trail of the horse, struck off
upon it, and were soon far out upon the prairie.

For more than a mile we advanced at a gallop. Time was everything.
Trusting to the intelligence of the Mexican boy, we scarcely scrutinised
the track, but made directly for the point where the horse had been last
seen.

Cyprio's information did not deceive us. A _motte_ of timber had served
him as a mark: the steed had passed close to its edge. Beyond it, he
had seen him no more, and the boy was sent back.

Beyond it, we found the tracks, easily recognisable by Rube, Garey, and
myself. There was a peculiarity by which we were prevented from
mistaking them: three of the prints were clearly cut in the turf--almost
perfect circles--the curve of the fourth--of the off fore-foot--was
interrupted by a slight indentation, where a piece had been broken from
the hoof. It had been done in that terrible leap upon the rocky bed of
the barranca.

Taking the trail again, we kept on--now advancing at a slower pace, and
with a greater degree of caution. Late rain had moistened the
prairie-turf, and we could perceive the racks without dismounting. At
intervals, there were stretches of drier surface, where the hoof had
scarcely left its impression. In such places, one leaped from the
saddle, and