This new discovery let in a flood of light. Beyond a doubt, the war-party was the same we had met by the mound, with perhaps a reinforcement; the same that had just plundered the Mexican town; the same who had paid their hurried visit to the hacienda, and this renegade—
Ha! Strange remembrances were crowding into my brain. I remembered meeting this semi-savage skulking about the road, after we had granted him his parole; I remembered, upon one occasion, seeing him while riding out with her; I remembered the rude expression with which he had regarded my companion—the glance half-fierce, half-lustful; I remembered that it made me angry; that I rebuked and threatened him—I now remembered all.
Wild thoughts came rushing into my mind—worse thoughts than ever.
I sprang to my saddle; and, calling out some half-coherent orders, rode rapidly along the trail.
Chapter Seventy Seven.
The Writing on the Maguey.
The skill of the trackers was no longer called in need; the war-trail was as easily followed as a toll-road: a blind man could have guided himself along such a well-trodden highway.
Our rate of speed was now ruled by the capacity of our horses. Alas! their power was nearly at an end. They had been two days and a night under the saddle, with but a few hours to refresh themselves by food or rest: they could not hold out much longer.