headlong flight. These noises had ceased--so, too,
the echo of hoofs which for a while came back from the galloping horse
of the cibolero.

Where were they now--zambo and cibolero? Had they fled from each other?
It would have seemed so from the relative directions in which they had
gone.

It was not so in reality. Whatever desire the zambo might have felt to
get away from that spot, his antagonist had no such design. The latter
had galloped out of the glade, but not in flight.

He knew the zambo well enough to tell that his courage was now gone.
The sudden loss of his comrade, and under such mysterious circumstances,
had terrified the black, and would paralyse him almost beyond the power
of resistance. He would think of nothing else but making his escape.
Carlos knew that.

The quick intellect of the latter had taught him whence his enemies had
come--from the lower or southern side of the grove. He had, indeed,
been loosing for them in that direction, and, while scrutinising the
underwood, had given most attention to that edge of the glade lying to
the south. He conjectured that they would deem this the safest way to
approach him, and his conjectures proved true.

Their horses would be left at some distance off, lest the stroke of
their hoofs might alarm him. This, too, was his conjecture, and a just
one. Still another, also just, was that the zambo was now making for
the horses! This last occurred to Carlos as he saw the other rushing
off into the underwood.

Just what the zambo was doing. Seeing his leader fall so mysteriously,
he thought no longer of an encounter. Flight was his only impulse--to
get back to the horses, mount and ride off, his one purpose. He had
hopes that Carlos would not hastily follow--that he might escape under
cover of the darkness.

He was mistaken. It was just to defeat this purpose that Carlos had
galloped forth. He, too, was resolved to make for the horses!

Once in the open plain, he wheeled to the right, and rode round the
grove. On reaching a point where he could command a view of the river
he reined up. His object in doing so was to reload his rifle.

He threw the piece into a vertical position, at the same time groping
for his powder-horn. To his surprise he could not get his hands upon
it, and on looking down he saw that it was gone! The strap by which it
had been suspended was no longer over his shoulders. It had been caught
upon a branch, and lifted of