Pedro thought not; he and the other victims, as soon as they got out of the hands of the mob, had fled to the chapparal, and were making for the American camp when met by our scouts. They were straggling along the road one after the other; Rube had detained them by the rancho, till we should come up.
Pedro feared that they were not all who had suffered—that there were other victims; the alcalde, he feared, had been worse than mutilated—he had been murdered.
This last information the poor fellow imparted in a whisper—at the same time casting a sorrowful look towards Conchita. I had not the courage to inquire further.
The question arose whether we should send back for more men, and wait till they arrived, or advance at once to the rancheria.
The former was negatived with unanimous voice. We were strong enough, and vengeance was impatient.
I was joyed by this decision; I could not have waited.
The women were directed to continue on to the ranger-camp; Pedro, mounted behind one of the men, should go with us. We needed him for purposes of identification.
We were about to move forward, when a figure appeared along the road in the direction we were going to take. On coming within sight of us, the figure was seen to skulk and hide in the bushes.
Rube and Garey ran rapidly forward; and in a few minutes returned bringing with them a Mexican youth—another of the victims!
He had left the scene of his sufferings somewhat later than the rest.