ening for some token of the
expected pursuit.

He had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object
approaching him. It gave him joy, for he recognised Cibolo coming along
his trail. The next moment the dog was by his stirrup. The cibolero
bent down in his saddle, and perceived that the poor brute was badly cut
and bleeding profusely. Several gashes appeared along his side, and one
near his shoulder exhibited a flap of hanging skin, over which the red
stream was pouring. The animal was evidently weak from loss of blood,
and tottered in his tracks.

"Amigo!" said Carlos, "you have saved my life to a certainty. It's my
turn to save yours--if I can."

As he said this he dismounted, and, taking the dog in his arms, climbed
back into the saddle.

For a while he sat reflecting what to do, with his eyes turned in the
direction from which he expected the pursuit.

He had now no doubt as to who were the occupants of the cave. The bay
of the hound was satisfactory evidence of the presence of the yellow
hunter, and of course the zambo was along with him. Carlos knew of no
other bloodhound in the settlement--the one heard must be that of the
mulatto.

For some minutes he remained by the rocks, considering what course he
had best take.

"I'll ride on to the grove," reflected he, "and hide in it till Antonio
comes. They can't track me this night--it will be too dark. The whole
sky is becoming clouded--there will be no more moon to-night I can lie
hid all day to-morrow, if they don't follow. If they do, why, I can see
them far enough off to ride away. My poor Cibolo, how you bleed!
Heavens, what a gash! Patience, brave friend! When we halt, your
wounds shall be looked to. Yes! to the grove I'll go. They won't
suspect me of taking that direction, as it is towards the settlements.
Besides they can't trail me in the darkness. Ha! what am I thinking
of?--not trail me in the darkness! What! I had forgotten the
bloodhound! O God, preserve me! These fiends can follow me were it as
dark as pitch! God preserve me!"

An anxious expression came over his countenance, and partly from the
burden he held in his arms, and partly from the weight of his thoughts,
he dropped into an attitude that betokened deep depression. For the
first time the hunted outlaw showed symptoms of despair.

For a long while he remained with his head leaning forward, and his body
bent over the neck of his horse.

But he had