ony was the same.

Their peons numbered a score--trusty Tagnos all, who loved their
masters, and who, if not warriors by trade, were made so by sympathy and
zeal.

Should they overtake the robbers in time, there would be no fear of the
result. From all circumstances known, the latter formed but a weak
band. Had this not been the case, they would never have left the valley
with so trifling a booty. Could they be overtaken before joining their
tribe, all might yet be well. They would be compelled to give up both
their plunder and their captive, and, perhaps, pay dearly for the
distress they had occasioned. Time, therefore, was a most important
consideration, and the pursuers had resolved to take the trail with the
earliest light of the morning.

Carlos slept not--and Don Juan only in short and feverish intervals.
Both sat up in their dresses,--Carlos by the bedside of his mother, who,
still suffering from the effects of the blow, appeared to rave in her
sleep.

The cibolero sat silent, and in deep thought. He was busied with plans
and conjectures--conjectures as to what tribe of Indians the marauders
could belong to. Apaches or Comanches they were not. He had met
parties of both on his return. They treated him in a friendly manner,
and they said nothing of hostilities against the people of San
Ildefonso. Besides, no bands of these would have been in such small
force as the late robbers evidently were. Carlos wished it had been
they. He knew that in such a case, when it was known that the captive
was _his_ sister, she would be restored to him. But no; they had
nothing to do with it. Who then?--the Yutas? Such was the belief among
the people of the valley, as he had been told by Don Juan. If so, there
was still a hope--Carlos had traded with a branch of this powerful and
warlike tribe. He was also on friendly terms with some of its chiefs,
though these were now at war with the more northern settlements.

But the Jicarillas still returned to his mind. These were Indians of a
cowardly, brutal disposition, and his mortal foes. They would have
scalped him on sight. If his sister was _their_ captive, her lot was
hard indeed; and the very thought of such a fate caused the cibolero to
start up with a shudder, and clench his hands in a convulsive effort of
passion.

It was near morning. The peons were astir and armed. The horses and
mules were saddled in the patio, and Don Juan had announced that all
w