probable--more than probable. The time and the hour were
just in keeping. The estampeda had occurred before midnight. No doubt
they were then on their way to the Waco village. They would just be in
time to make their attack, at the usual hour for such forays, between
midnight and morning.

Carlos feared he might be too late to give warning. His Waco friends
may have already perished! Whether or no, he determined to proceed at
once to their encampment.

Leaving Antonio and the peons with directions to guard and defend his
own camp to the last, he rode off, armed both with rifle and bow. It
was yet but grey day, but he knew the trail leading to the Waco village,
and followed it without difficulty. He rode with caution, scanning the
timber copses before approaching them; and running his eye along the
crests of the ridges as he advanced.

This caution was not unnecessary. The Panes could not be far off--they
might still be in ambush between him and the Waco camp, or halted among
the hills.

The cibolero had but little fear of meeting one or two of them. He rode
a horse in which he had full confidence; and he knew that no Pane could
overtake him; but he might be surrounded by numbers, and intercepted
before he could reach the Waco lodges. That was the reason why he
advanced with so much caution.

His ears were set to listen attentively. Every sound was noted and
weighed--the "gobble" of the wild turkey from the branches of the oak;
the drumming of the ruffed grouse on some dry knoll; the whistling of
the fallow-deer; or the tiny bark of the prairie marmot. All these were
well-known sounds; and as each was uttered, the cibolero stopped and
listened attentively. Under other circumstances he would not have
heeded them, but he knew that these sounds could be imitated, and his
ear was bent to detect any counterfeit. He could distinguish the Pane
trail of the previous night. A strong band there must have been, by the
numerous tracks on the grass. At the crossing of a stream Carlos could
detect the prints of moccasins in the sand. There were still some of
the party afoot then, though, no doubt, the stolen _mulada_ had mounted
a good many.

Carlos rode on with more caution than ever. He was half-way to the Waco
village, and still the Pane trail led in that direction. Surely these
could not have passed without finding it? Such skilled warriors as the
Panes would not. They would see the trail of the Wacoe