The Mexican had risen, and softly approaching the motionless form, knelt on the ground beside him, and listened to his breathing.  It was low and regular, as one in quiet slumber.  He bent and gazed into the upturned face—­not a muscle quivered or a feature moved.  Stealthily a hand crept round the collar of the cloak, and lifted a heavy lock of the raven hair.  Smoothing it out on the grass, he drew forth a crooked blade, which, in accordance with the custom of his countrymen, ever hung in the girdle passed about the waist.  It glittered in the moonlight; and with dexterous hand he cut the lock of hair:  then, returning the knife to its resting-place, rose, and noiselessly retreating to his former position, some yards distant, threw himself down to sleep.

Dr. Bryant, fully conscious of every movement, determined, if possible, to solve this mystery.  His pistols were in readiness, and, had violence been attempted, he would have sprung to his feet and defended himself.  He waited awhile, then turned, stretched, yawned, and finally rose up.  He drew out his watch, the hand pointed to two.  He wound it up, and drawing his cap closer about his ears, for the night was cold, approached his companion and stirred him with his foot.  No sound or movement indicated consciousness; he stooped and shook him.

“Antoine, Antoine, get up my friend:  you don’t intend to spend the night here, do you?”

Ameda sat upright, and rubbed his eyes with well-feigned sleepiness:  “Well, Senor Americano, what is it—­Indians smelling about?”

Dr. Bryant could not repress a smile at the drowsy tone of the ranchero, who scarce five moments before had crept from his side.

“Upon my word, you seem a match for the seven sleepers of old.  Why, man, if Indians had stumbled on you by chance, they had slung your scalp on yonder bough.  In times like these men should slumber lightly.”

“Very true, Senor; yet mine eyes are heavy, for two moons have seen me riding on.  But you are up! wherefore?”

“I proceed on my journey, and wakened you to ask advice and direction, and request your company, if it be that we take the same route.”

“Jesu Maria!  One might think the man had choice!  Why, turn your horse’s head, and rest for naught but grass and water.”

The Mexican had risen, and in adjusting his blanket, a sudden gust of wind lifted his hat, and it fell to the ground at his feet; he clutched at it convulsively, but it was too late.  Dr. Bryant started back in astonishment: 

“Inez!”

The head sunk on her bosom, and the hair which had been confined at the back of her head, fell in luxuriant masses to her waist.

“Fearless, yet unfortunate girl! what has led you to this freak?”