hills. We were walking our animals along the side of this acclivity,
at a considerable distance above the brook on our left, their hoofs
making no noise in the soft, black earth, when I was startled by the
braying of an ass somewhere in the ravine.

Sergeant Cunningham and Corporal Frank threw themselves quickly from
their saddles and held the horses by the bits to prevent them from
responding to the greeting, and I quickly sought a place from which I
could make an observation.

We were in a clump of evergreen trees which commanded a view of the
ravine and obscured us from sight in all directions. Looking across
the ravine, I caught a glimpse of a party of Indians a little beyond
the brook. Through my glass I made them out to be a party of
twenty-seven Navajos, sitting about a camp-fire eating their dinner.

As many ponies were grazing near, and a mule and burro. From certain
peculiar markings I had observed the day Cordova joined me in the
valleys, I had no difficulty in recognizing the last two animals to be
his property. Packs were lying near the fire, showing that the
captured animals were being used as beasts of burden.

All this time I had entirely overlooked the presence of my dog Vic.
Had I thought of her in season, it would have been easy to have kept
her close at my heels; but I had left her free to wander, not thinking
of any threatening danger.

Suddenly I heard a chorus of grunts from the Indians, and looking in
their direction I saw Vic stand for an instant with her forefeet on a
prostrate log, look questioningly at the savages, and then drop down