the horse have gone!

Perhaps, with a better light, we might have found the trail; but for a
long hour we searched, without striking upon any sign of it. Perhaps we
might still have found it, even with our waxen torches, but for an
incident that not only interrupted our search, but filled us with fresh
apprehension, and almost stifled our hopes of success.

The interruption did not come unexpected. The clouds had for some time
given ample warning. The big solitary drops that at intervals fell with
plashing noise upon the rocks, were but the _avant-couriers_ of one of
the great rainstorms of the prairie, when water descends as if from a
shower-bath. We knew from the signs that such a storm was nigh; and
while casting around to recover the trail, it came down in all its fury.

Almost in an instant our lights were extinguished, and our bootless
search brought to a termination.

We drew up under the rocks, and stood side by side in sullen silence.
Even the elements seemed against me. In my heart's bitterness, I cursed
them.

CHAPTER SIXTY.

THE SOMBRERO.

The horses cowered under the cold rain, all of them jaded and hungry.
The hot dusty march of the morning, and the long rough gallop of the
night, had exhausted their strength; and they stood with drooped heads
and hanging ears, dozing and motionless.

The men, too, were wearied--some of them quite worn out. A few kept
their feet, bridle in hand, under shelter of the impending cliff; the
others, having staggered down, with their backs against the rock, had
almost instantly fallen asleep.

For me was neither sleep nor rest; I did not even seek protection
against the storm; but standing clear of the cliff, received the
drenching shower full upon my shoulders. It was the chill rain of the
"norther;" but at that moment neither cold _norte_ nor hot sirocco could
have produced upon me an impression of pain. To physical suffering I
was insensible. I should even have welcomed it, for I well understood
the truth, proverbially expressed in that language, rich above all
others in proverbial lore--"_un clavo saca otro clavo_" and still more
fully illustrated by the poet:

"_Tristezas me hacen triste,
Tristezas salgo a buscar,
A ver si con tristezas
Tristezas puedo olvidar_."

Yes, under any other form, I should have welcomed physical pain as a
neutraliser of my mental anguish; but that cold norther brought no
consolation.

Sadly the reverse. It w