med to recognise
this path as one he was in search of, and, heading his horse into it, he
parted from the shadow of the bluffs, and rode out under the full
moonlight. This, shining down upon him, showed a young man of fine
proportions, dressed in ranchero costume, and mounted upon a noble
steed, whose sleek black coat glittered under the silvery light. It was
easy to know the rider. His bright complexion, and light-coloured hair
curling thickly under the brim of his sombrero, were characteristics not
to be mistaken in that land of dark faces. He was Carlos the cibolero.
It could be seen now that a large wolf-like dog trotted near the heels
of the horse. That dog was Cibolo.

Advancing in the direction of the town, the caution of the horseman
seemed to increase.

The country before him was not quite open. It was level; but
fortunately for him, its surface was studded with copse-like islands of
timber, and here and there straggling patches of chapparal through,
which the path led. Before entering these the dog preceded him, but
without noise or bark; and when emerging into the open plain again, the
horseman each time halted and scanned the ground that separated him from
the next copse, before attempting to pass over it.

Proceeding in this way, he arrived at length within several hundred
yards of the outskirts of the town, and could see the walls, with the
church cupola shining over the tops of the trees. One line of wall on
which his eyes were fixed lay nearer than the rest. He recognised its
outline. It was the parapet over the house of Don Ambrosio--in the rear
of which he had now arrived.

He halted in a small copse of timber, the last upon the plain. Beyond,
in the direction of Don Ambrose's house, the ground was open and level
up to the bank of the stream already described as running along the
bottom of the garden. The tract was a meadow belonging to Don Ambrosio,
and used for pasturing the horses of his establishment. It was
accessible to these by means of a rude bridge that crossed the stream
outside the walls of the garden. Another bridge, however, joined the
garden itself to the meadow. This was much slighter and of neater
construction--intended only for foot-passengers. It was, in fact, a
mere private bridge, by which the fair daughter of Don Ambrosio could
cross to enjoy her walk in the pleasant meadow beyond. Upon this little
bridge, at its middle part, was a gate with lock and key, to ke