had crossed the Rio Grande, and arrived in the camp of our army.
Under the broad protecting wings of the American eagle, my betrothed
could repose in safety, until that blissful hour when--

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of the Comanches we never heard more. The story of one only was
afterwards told--a fearful tale. Ill-fated Wakono! A horrid end was
his.

An oft-told tale by the prairie camp-fire is that of the skeleton of an
Indian warrior found clasping the trunk of a tree! Wakono had horribly
perished.

We had no design of giving him to such a fate. Without thought had we
acted; and though he may have deserved death, we had not designed for
him such terrible retribution.

Perhaps I was the only one who had any remorseful feeling; but the
remembrance of that scalp-bedecked shield--the scenes in that Cyprian
grove--those weeping captives, wedded to a woeful lot--the remembrance
of these cruel realities evermore rose before my mind, stifling the
remorse I should otherwise have felt for the doom of the ill-starred
savage. His death, though terrible in kind, was merited by his deeds;
and was perhaps as just as punishments usually are.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Poetical justice demands the death of Ijurra, and by the hand of
Holingsworth. Truth enables me to satisfy the demand.

On my return to the camp, I learned that the act was already
consummated--the brother's blood had been avenged!

It was a tragic tale, and would take many chapters in the telling. I
may not give them here. Let a few particulars suffice.

From that dread night, Holingsworth had found a willing hand to aid him
in his purpose of retribution--one who yearned for vengeance keenly as
himself. Wheatley was the man.

The two, with a chosen party, had thrown themselves on the trail of the
guerrilla; and with Pedro as their guide, had followed it far within the
hostile lines. Like sleuth-hounds had they followed it night and day,
until they succeeded in tracking the guerrilleros to their lair.

It was a desperate conflict--hand to hand, and knife to knife--but the
rangers at length triumphed; most of the guerrilleros were slain, and
the band nearly annihilated.

Ijurra fell by Holingsworth's own hand; while the death of the red
ruffian El Zorro, by the bowie knife of the Texan lieutenant, was an
appropriate punishment for the cruelty infli