Jerry made no sign.  We must either halt or use our revolvers.  We still followed Jerry, whose horse was travelling at a marvelous pace.  Hal kept close to my side, as we swiftly sped over the beautiful green turf.  I watched every movement of the savages.  Were they gaining on us?  No:  we seem to have headed them off.  Yes:  now they turn.  They are going to escape us, surely.

Jerry says, “Now’s your time, boys! give ’em one!”

And “give ’em one” we did.

One reels in his saddle, but clutches his horse’s mane and saves himself; then, a moment after, falls, and his horse dashes off over the plain, while his comrade turns and rides madly away.

“Now, boys, easy.  We’ve got ’em,” says Jerry.  “Let’s give our horses a chance to breathe.  Thar ain’t no hurry, now; we’ll have the varmints in a few minutes.  Here’s their trail, now.”

Slowly we follow it, away from the flying fugitive towards the prisoner and her captors;—­carefully we examine every foot of ground.  Old Jerry says, “We must be near to ’em; but where are they?  We must soon meet them;”—­but meet them we never did.

In a little swale, a short distance from the trail, where the grass was fresh and green, we came upon the body of a Mexican woman—­dead.

She had been scalped; and a single spear thrust, through her body, told us all that could be told of her sad story.

She had Apparantly been very feeble, and unable to keep up with the savages; for her worn and bloody feet bore evidence that she had walked many weary miles, while about her waist was a portion of the lariat that had been used in leading her.

Finding that she could no longer walk, her captors placed her on the horse; but this had greatly delayed them, and they had disposed of her in the manner above narrated.  The bloody deed accomplished, the murderers were hurrying on to join their comrades, when the sound of Jerry’s rifle warned them of danger; and they had made a long detour from the trail, and thus escaped us.

It was growing too late to think of pursuing them farther; and we reluctantly turned our horses’ heads towards camp, which we reached just after nightfall, very weary from our long afternoon’s ride and quite ready for bed; nor was our sleep any the less sweet for the attempt to perform a kind action.

Ned made an effort to have Jerry deliver his lecture upon the art of trailing, but the old man appeared to think it would receive more attention another time; and so it was postponed till the following evening, when, true to his promise, he entertained us for a long hour; giving us much useful information upon the subject, which I will endeavor to repeat for the benefit of my young readers, some of whom may one day be placed like Hal and Ned in a position where they will find it, not merely a matter of entertainment, but exceedingly useful; for trailing is as much an art as is painting or sculpture, and requires the most constant practice to become a proficient in it.