"What did they leave that fellow for?" said Coronado in surprise, riding up to the senseless figure.
"I'll fix him," volunteered Texas Smith, dismounting and drawing his hunting knife. "Reckon he hain't been squarely finished."
"Stop!" ordered Coronado. "He is not an Apache. He is some pueblo Indian. See how much he is hurt."
"Skull ain't broke," replied Texas, fingering the wound as roughly as if it had been in the flesh of a beast. "Reckon he'll flop round. May do mischief, if we don't fix him."
Anxious to stick his knife into the defenceless young throat, he nevertheless controlled his sentiments and looked up for instructions. Since the splendid decapitation which Coronado had performed, Texas respected him as he had never heretofore hoped to respect a "greaser."
"Perhaps we can get information out of him," said Coronado. "Suppose you lay him in a wagon."
Meanwhile preparations had been made for an advance. The four dead or badly wounded draft mules were disentangled from the harness, and their places supplied with the four army mules, whose packs were thrown into the wagons. These animals, by the way, had escaped injury, partly because they had been tethered between the two lines of vehicles, and partly because they had been well covered by their loads, which were plentifully stuck-with arrows.
"We are ready to march," said Thurstane to Coronado. "I am sorry we can't try to recover your men back there."
"No use," commented Texas Smith. "The Patchies have been at 'em. They're chuck full of spear holes by this time."
Coronado shouted to the drivers to start. Commencing on the right, the wagons filed off two by two toward the mouth of the cañon, while the Indians, gathered in a group half a mile away, looked on without a yell or a movement. The instant that the vehicle which contained the ladies had cleared itself of the others, Thurstane and Coronado rode alongside of it.