straggling village, blessing themselves in the names of St. Antony of Italy and St. James of Spain, that such foolhardiness should be possible to men.
“We formed a tolerably imposing cavalcade, Arthur, myself, and two of the clerks, had good nags of our own; the rest were mounted on excellent mules, the property of the company. The silver had been transferred from the backs of the porters to the pack-saddles of a train of baggage-mules, and the peons, now transformed into muleteers, were to lead and tend these sure-footed creatures on the march. Our intention was to bring back stores, as usual, from Chihuahua. The low-country Indian, Father Bartholomew’s parishioner, was permitted to ride a spare mule, since it appeared inhuman to compel him to renew the toilsome tramp of fifty miles after such brief repose.
“The country, for some miles, was rather lonely and sterile, full of rocky ridges that were connected with the spurs of the grand sierra, and seamed with ghastly ravines, just the places best adapted for an ambush of lurking Indians. Yet we accomplished our day’s route of above thirty miles without any signs of the Apachés being visible. A few tattered scarecrows, dressed in the remains of military uniforms, and irregularly armed, we now and then met, and had little doubt that they were on the look out for unprotected travellers; but they slunk away at the sight of our formidable force. We encamped for the night. The place we selected was an open plateau, free from bush and brake, and where foes could not easily approach us unseen. There was good water within reach, and we had fuel on some of the pack-mules. Fires were kindled, tents pitched, the evening meal was cooked and despatched, and sentinels were posted and relieved at regular intervals. No attack took place. A few small wolves prowled about the camp, but a firebrand, flung among the pack, soon drove them howling into the darkness. In the morning a discovery was made, and one of by no means a pleasant nature.
“The strange Indian, Father Bartholomew’s model parishioner, was gone. He had slipped away during the night, and, unfortunately, Arthur Lake’s horse—a valuable animal of good Spanish breeding—was likewise missing. It was plain that the steed had been stolen, and that the copper-coloured deserter was the thief: but what could we do? We found that the picket-rope had been cut; the horse must have been gently and cautiously led away, for some faint marks of the trail were to be seen in the soft turf, and led towards the high road.
“There could be no doubt about it: the Indian was a rogue, but he was beyond pursuit, and, with muttered vows of vengeance on his tawny hide, if ever we set eyes on him again, we gave up the jennet as lost. Arthur, who was much annoyed at the loss of his favourite nag, was obliged to content himself with the mule previously ridden by the runaway, and we again started.
“‘This is some rascally trick of the monk’s,’ said one of the party, ‘and if I were Mr. Slingsby, I would pluck a crow with Father Bartholomew on the subject.’
“The captain of the Cornishmen presently came up to me with a very grave face.
“‘Them painted beggars are coming, sir.’ And he pointed to the blue line of the horizon, on which appeared a number of dark specks that rapidly grew larger.
“‘What makes you consider those objects to be Indians, Mr. Atkins?’ asked I dubiously, for, although the captain was famous for his powers of vision, I could hardly believe that the savages would venture so near a strongly garrisoned city.
“‘They are buffaloes,’ said one of the American surveyors, ‘some half-wild herd on their way to the southern markets.’
“‘I should take them for vultures, now;’ cried Arthur Lake, no less earnestly; ‘I feel sure that I see the flapping of their broad wings.’
“The captain shook his head.
“‘Indians, and on no honest errand,’ he repeated with dogged conviction; ‘it’s the flutter of their feathered head-dresses,’ Mr. Lake observed. ‘I can make out men and horses.’
“‘So can I,’ cried a young Frenchman, whose sight was nearly equal to that of the Cornishman, and directly afterwards the dusky peons set up a yell of dismay:
“‘Indios bravos! los Apachés—the saints defend us!’
“There was a moment of gabbling and confusion, but my voice was soon hearkened to, and we formed in good order to receive the expected charge. The armed men drew up in the form of an irregular square, with the mules and porters in the centre. By the advice of Atkins, who had been many years in Mexico, we all dismounted and hobbled the forelegs of the horses and mules, lest they should be stampedoed by the horrid Indian whoop. Very soon did the distant clump of specks develop itself into a long string of tawny horsemen, mounted on active little steeds, and coming over the plain at a headlong gallop. Presently they halted, formed into two squadrons, and came rushing down upon us, striking their mouths with the palm of the open hand as they uttered the fearful and unearthly war cry.
“‘Hia! hia! hia! hi—a!’ the last note prolonged into the melancholy fierceness of a wolf’s howl, rang over the wide plain; and as they came on I must own that their excited gestures, their faces and bodies smeared with paint of every colour, and the tossing and brandishing of lances, shields, bows, and plumed head-gear, had something terrific, especially when accompanied by that dreadful pealing cry, that seemed worthy of the throats of so many actual demons. They were about two hundred, as nearly as we could count. On our side no one flinched. Even the foreign seamen, who had never seen an Indian before, and who were quite inexperienced in the use of firearms, stood steadily and coolly in their allotted places, and handled their weapons with resolution. Don’t yawn, Tom; I have no battle to relate, for just as the wild riders drew near enough for the rifles to take effect, and as the word ‘fire’ was trembling on my lips, the savages gave a cry of disappointed rage, pulled up their foaming horses, huddled together in tumult, and then, shaking their clenched fists at us with
