“Yis,” continues the ex-Ranger with increased emphasis, “I’d lay down my life to save that young lady from harum, as I know you’d lay down yourn. An’ thet air to say nothin’ o’ my own gurl. This chile ain’t niver been much guv to runnin’ arter white wheemen, an’ war gen’rally content to put up wi’ a squaw. But sech as them! As for yourn, I don’t wonder yur heart beats like a chased rabbit’s; myen air doin’ the same for Concheeter. Wal, niver fear! Ef thar’s a hair o’ eyther o’ thar heads teched, you’ll hear the crack o’ Walt Wilder’s rifle, and see its bullet go into the breast o’ him as harms ’em. I don’t care who or what he air, or whar he be. Nor I don’t care a durn—not the valley of a dried buffler-chip—what may come arter—hangin’, garrotin’, or shootin’. At all risks, them two sweet creeturs air bound to be protected from harum; an ef it comes, they shall be reevenged. I swar that, by the Eturnal!”
“I join you in the oath,” pronounces Hamersley, with emphatic fervour, once more exchanging a hand-squeeze with his companion. “Yes, Walt; the brave Miranda may be sacrificed—I fear it must be so. But for his sister, there is still a hope that we may save her; and surely heaven will help us. If not, I shall be ready to die. Ah! death would be easier to bear than the loss of Adela!”
“An’ for this chile the same, rayther than he shed lose Concheeter.”
Chapter Forty Nine.
A Cautious Commander.
No need saying that the cavalcade seen passing the copse is the lancer troop of Colonel Uraga.
Some thirty hours before, they ascended to the Staked Plain, and are now nearly across it. Guided by the traitor, they had no need to grope their way, and have made quick time. In a few hours more they will pounce upon the prey for which they have swooped so far.
The two men concealed in the grove expect them to ride on without stopping, till out of sight. Instead, they see them draw up at a few miles distance, though all remain mounted. Two separate from the rest keep on a couple of hundred yards ahead, then also halt.