It was near sundown as I entered the defile. Before riding in among the rocks I looked back. During the last hour I had gained upon my pursuers. They were still at least three miles out upon the plain, and I saw that they were toiling on wearily.
I fell into a train of reflection as I rode down the ravine. I was now upon a known trail. My spirits rose; my hopes, so long clouded over, began to assume a brightness and buoyancy, greater from the very influence of reaction. I should still be able to rescue my betrothed. My whole energies, my fortune, my life, would be devoted to this one object. I would raise a band stronger than ever Seguin had commanded. I should get followers among the returning employés of the caravan; teamsters whose term of service had expired. I would search the posts and mountain rendezvous for trappers and hunters. I would apply to the Mexican Government for aid, in money—in troops. I would appeal to the citizens of El Paso, of Chihuahua, of Durango.
“Ge-hosaphat! Hyur’s a fellur ridin’ ’ithout eyther saddle or bridle!”
Five or six men with rifles sprang out from the rocks, surrounding me.
“May an Injun eat me ef ’tain’t the young fellur as tuk me for a grizzly! Billee! look hyur! hyur he is! the very fellur! He! he! he! He! he! he!”
“Rube! Garey!”
“What! By Jove, it’s my friend Haller! Hurrah! Old fellow, don’t you know me?”
“Saint Vrain!”
“That it is. Don’t I look like him? It would have been a harder task to identify you but for what the old trapper has been telling us about you. But come! how have you got out of the hands of the Philistines?”
“First tell me who you all are. What are you doing here?”