The country became more broken, and the patches of scrub forest
increased in number. Often the three rode quite near to Urrea's men and
observed them closely. The Mexicans were moving slowly, and, as the
Americans had foreseen, discipline was relaxed greatly.

Near night drops of rain began to fall in their faces, and the sun set
among clouds. The three rejoiced. A night, dark and wet, had come sooner
than they had hoped. Obed and Ned also took out serapes, and wrapped
them around their shoulders. They served now not only to protect their
bodies, but to keep their firearms dry as well. Then they tethered their
horses among thorn bushes about a mile from Urrea's camp, and advanced
on foot.

They saw the camp fire glimmering feebly through the night, and they
advanced boldly. It was so dark now that a human figure fifty feet away
blended with the dusk, and the ground, softened by the rain, gave back
no sound of footsteps. Nevertheless they saw on their right a field
which showed a few signs of cultivation, and they surmised that Urrea
had made his camp at the lone hut of some peon.

They reckoned right. They came to clumps of trees, and in an opening
inclosed by them was a low adobe hut, from the open door of which a
light shone. They knew that Urrea and his officers had taken refuge
there from the rain and cold and, under the boughs of the trees or
beside the fire, they saw the rest of the band sheltering themselves as
best they could. The prisoners, their hands bound, were in a group in
the open, where the slow, cold rain fell steadily upon them. Ned's heart
swelled with rage at the sight.