summer resorts. Coronado began--only moderately as yet--to fall in love.

But an ugly incident came to disturb his opening dream of affection,
happiness, wealth, and success. Toward the close of his fourth day's
march, after he had got well into the unsettled region beyond San Isidore,
he discovered, several miles behind the train, a party of five horsemen.
He was on one summit and they on another, with a deep, stony valley
intervening. Without a moment's hesitation, he galloped down a long slope,
rejoined the creeping wagons, hurried them forward a mile or so, and
turned into a ravine for the night's halt.

Whether the cavaliers were Indians or Thurstane and his four recruits he
had been unable to make out. They had not seen the train; the nature of
the ground had prevented that. It was now past sundown, and darkness
coming on rapidly. Whispering something about Apaches, he gave orders to
lie close and light no fires for a while, trusting that the pursuers would
pass his hiding place.

For a moment he thought of sending Texas Smith to ambush the party, and
shoot Thurstane if he should be in it, pleading afterwards that the men
looked, in the darkness, like Apaches. But no; this was an extreme
measure; he revolted against it a little. Moreover, there was danger of
retribution: settlements not so far off; soldiers still nearer.

So he lay quiet, chewing a bit of grass to allay his nervousness, and
talking stronger love to Clara than he had yet thought needful or wise.