nious device.

I did not disdain to avail myself of the extra "shaft" which the
kind-hearted Garey had sunk for my accommodation; and having placed
myself by its side, and drawn the ample robe over my shoulders, I felt
as warm as if seated in front of a sea-coal fire!

Under other circumstances, I might have joined in the merriment produced
among my companions by the ludicrous spectacle which we presented. A
comic spectacle indeed; nine of us squatted at intervals over the
ground, the blue smoke escaping through the interstices of our robes and
blankets, and rising around our heads, as though one and all of us were
on fire!

Wind, sleet, and darkness, continued throughout the whole night--cold
wind, sharp icy sleet, and black darkness, that seemed palpable to the
touch. Ever so eager, ever so fresh, we could not have advanced along
the trail. Grand war-trail as it was, it could not have been traced
under that amorphous obscurity, and we had no means of carrying a light,
even had it been safe to do so. We had no lantern, and the norther with
one blast would have whisked out a torch of pitch-pine.

We thought no more of going forward, until either the day should break
or the wind come to a lull.

At midnight we replenished our subterranean fires, and remained on the
ground. Hail, rain, wind, and darkness.

My companions rested their heads upon their knees, or nodding slept. No
sleep for me--not even the repose of thought. Like some fevered
sufferer on his wakeful couch. I counted the hours--the minutes. The
minutes seemed hours.

Rain, hail, sleet, and wind seemed, like darkness itself, to belong to
the night. As long as night lasted, so long continued they. When it
came to an end, all vanished together--the norther had exhausted its
strength.

A wild turkey--killed before nightfall--with some steaks of the
peccary-pork, furnished us with an ample breakfast.

It was hastily cooked, and hastily eaten; and as the first streak of
dawn appeared along the horizon, we were in our saddles, and advancing
upon the trail.

CHAPTER EIGHTY.

A RED EPISTLE.

The trail led north-west, as written upon the maguey. No doubt Isolina
had heard her captors forespeak their plans. I knew that she herself
understood something of the Comanche language. The accomplishment may
appear strange--and not strange either, when it is known that her mother
could have spoken it well: with her it was a _native tongue_.

B