the noble savage--of the simplicity and gentleness of
that condition falsely termed a "state of nature." It is not nature.
God meant not man to be a wild Ishmaelite on the face of the earth. Man
was made for civilisation--for society; and only under its influence
does he assume the form and grace of true nobility. Leave him to
himself--to the play of his instincts--to the indulgence of his evil
impulses--and man becomes a brute, a beast of prey. Even worse--for
wolf and tiger gently consort with their kind, and still more gently
with their family: they feel the tenderness of the family tie. Where is
the savage upon all the earth who does not usurp dominion, and practise
the meanest tyranny, over his weaker mate? Where can you find him? Not
on the blood-stained karoos of Africa, not upon the forest-plains of the
Amazon, not by the icy shores of the Arctic Sea, certainly not upon the
prairies of North America.

No man can be noble who would in wrath lay his finger upon weaker woman;
talk not, then, of the noble savage!--fancy of poets, myth of romancers!

The tracks of riderless horses, the footsteps of walking women--tender
girls and children--upon that long tiresome trail, had for me a cruel
significance--those slender tiny tracks of pretty feet--_pobres ninas_!

There was one that fixed my attention more than the rest: every now and
then my eyes were upon it; I fancied I could identify it. It was
exactly the size, I thought. The perfect symmetry and configuration,
the oval curve of the heel, the high instep, the row of small graduated
globes made by the impression of the toes, the smooth surface left by
the imprint of the delicate epidermis--all these points seemed to
characterise the footprint of a lady.

Surely it could not be hers? Oh, surely she would not be toiling along
that weary track? Cruel as were the hearts of her captors, brutal as
were their natures, surely they would not inflict this unnecessary pain?
Beauty like hers should command kinder treatment, should inspire
compassion even in the breast of a savage! Alas! I deemed it doubtful.

We rode slowly on, as already said, not desirous of yet overtaking the
foe: we were allowing them time to depart from their noon halting-place.
We might have stopped there a while longer, but I could not submit to
the repose of a halt. Motion, however slow, appeared progress, and in
some measure hindered me from dwelling upon thoughts that only produced
un