At the approach of Coronado those who were around the wagons swept away in a panic, and never paused in their flight until they were a good half mile distant.  They carried off, however, every man, whether dead or injured, except one alone.  A few rods from the train lay a mere boy, certainly not over fifteen years old, his forehead gashed by a bullet, and life apparently extinct.  There was nothing strange in the fact of so young a lad taking part in battle, for the military age among the Indians is from twelve to thirty-six, and one third of their fighters are children.

“What did they leave that fellow for?” said Coronado in surprise, riding up to the senseless figure.

“I’ll fix him,” volunteered Texas Smith, dismounting and drawing his hunting knife.  “Reckon he hain’t been squarely finished.”

“Stop!” ordered Coronado.  “He is not an Apache.  He is some pueblo Indian.  See how much he is hurt.”

“Skull ain’t broke,” replied Texas, fingering the wound as roughly as if it had been in the flesh of a beast.  “Reckon he’ll flop round.  May do mischief, if we don’t fix him.”

Anxious to stick his knife into the defenceless young throat, he nevertheless controlled his sentiments and looked up for instructions.  Since the splendid decapitation which Coronado had performed, Texas respected him as he had never heretofore hoped to respect a “greaser.”

“Perhaps we can get information out of him,” said Coronado.  “Suppose you lay him in a wagon.”

Meanwhile preparations had been made for an advance.  The four dead or badly wounded draft mules were disentangled from the harness, and their places supplied with the four army mules, whose packs were thrown into the wagons.  These animals, by the way, had escaped injury, partly because they had been tethered between the two lines of vehicles, and partly because they had been well covered by their loads, which were plentifully stuck-with arrows.

“We are ready to march,” said Thurstane to Coronado.  “I am sorry we can’t try to recover your men back there.”

“No use,” commented Texas Smith.  “The Patchies have been at ’em.  They’re chuck full of spear holes by this time.”

Coronado shouted to the drivers to start.  Commencing on the right, the wagons filed off two by two toward the mouth of the canon, while the Indians, gathered in a group half a mile away, looked on without a yell or a movement.  The instant that the vehicle which contained the ladies had cleared itself of the others, Thurstane and Coronado rode alongside of it.

“So! you are safe!” said the former.  “By Heavens, if they had hurt you!”

“And you?” asked Clara, very quickly and eagerly, while scanning him from head to foot.

Coronado saw that look, anxious for Thurstane alone; and, master of dissimulation though he was, his face showed both pain and anger.

“Ah—­oh—­oh dear!” groaned Mrs. Stanley, as she made her appearance in the front of the vehicle.  “Well! this is rather more than I can bear.  This is just as much as a woman can put up with.  Dear me! what is the matter with your arm, Lieutenant?”