escape us, surely.

Jerry says, "Now's your time, boys! give 'em one!"

And "give 'em one" we did.

One reels in his saddle, but clutches his horse's mane and saves himself;
then, a moment after, falls, and his horse dashes off over the plain,
while his comrade turns and rides madly away.

"Now, boys, easy. We've got 'em," says Jerry. "Let's give our horses a
chance to breathe. Thar ain't no hurry, now; we'll have the varmints in a
few minutes. Here's their trail, now."

Slowly we follow it, away from the flying fugitive towards the prisoner
and her captors;--carefully we examine every foot of ground. Old Jerry
says, "We must be near to 'em; but where are they? We must soon meet
them;"--but meet them we never did.

In a little swale, a short distance from the trail, where the grass was
fresh and green, we came upon the body of a Mexican woman--dead.

She had been scalped; and a single spear thrust, through her body, told
us all that could be told of her sad story.

She had Apparantly been very feeble, and unable to keep up with the
savages; for her worn and bloody feet bore evidence that she had walked
many weary miles, while about her waist was a portion of the lariat that
had been used in leading her.