was no moon, the heavens were thickly studded with stars. No sound
disturbed the profound silence that reigned about us, as we waited and
listened for the signal that was to decide our fate. How many voices,
before another hour, might be hushed in death? I asked myself the
question, but there came no answer.

Suddenly, the stillness was disturbed by the quick, snarling yelp of a
_coyote_, so natural, that, for an instant, I persuaded myself it
was the creature itself and not old Jerry. Again I heard it, seemingly
more distinct and nearer than before. Would it be repeated?

My heart almost ceased to beat as I asked the question, and I held my
breath in my anxiety to hear. Will it ever come?

Ah, yes! there it is: quick, sharp, and unmistakable, followed by the
report of a single rifle.

The next instant, the sound of a dozen shots burst upon the air, mingled
with the terrible, unearthly yell of the Comanche war-whoop, and we all
rushed forward pell-mell for the camp, through the whizzing of arrows,
the ping of bullets, the shouts of Mexicans, and the yells of Indians.

It was such a scene of excitement that I hardly knew what I was doing,
although I fully realized we were in the Indian camp: before I had time
to do more than this, I saw Jerry coming towards me. As he came up, he
said, in tones that carried cheer with them,--

"Well, Judge, we're in luck; fifty mules and two varmints is a pretty
good night's work. How many hev you got up here?"