They rode all that day and did not see a trace of a human being, but they did see both buffalo and antelope in the distance.

“It shows what the war has done,” said the Panther.  “I rode over these same prairies about a year ago an’ game was scarce, but there were some men.  Now the men are all gone an’ the game has come back.  Cur’us how quick buffalo an’ deer an’ antelope learn about these things.”

They slept the night through on the open prairie, keeping watch by turns.  The weather was cold, but they had their good blankets with them and they took no discomfort.  They rode forward again early in the morning, and about noon struck an old but broad trail.  It was evident that many men and many wagons had passed here.  There were deep ruts in the earth, cut by wheels, and the traces of footsteps showed over a belt a quarter of a mile wide.

“Well, Ned, I s’pose you can make a purty good guess what this means?” said the Panther.

“This was made weeks and weeks ago,” replied Ned confidently, “and the men who made it were Mexicans.  They were soldiers, the army of Cos, that we took at San Antonio, and which we allowed to retire on parole into Mexico.”

“There’s no doubt you’re right,” said the Panther.  “There’s no other force in this part of the world big enough to make such a wide an’ lastin’ trail.  An’ I think it’s our business to follow these tracks.  What do you say, Obed?”

“It’s just the one thing in the world that we’re here to do,” said the Maine man.  “Broad is the path and straight is the way that leads before us, and we follow on.”

“Do we follow them down into Mexico?” said Ned.

“I don’t think it likely that we’ll have to do it,” replied the Panther, glancing at Obed.

Ned caught the look and he understood.

“Do you mean,” he asked, “that Cos, after taking his parole and pledging his word that he and his troops would not fight against us, would stop at the Rio Grande?”

“I mean that an’ nothin’ else,” replied the Panther.  “I ain’t talkin’ ag’in Mexicans in general.  I’ve knowed some good men among them, but I wouldn’t take the word of any of that crowd of generals, Santa Anna, Cos, Sesma, Urrea, Gaona, Castrillon, the Italian Filisola, or any of them.”

“There’s one I’d trust,” said Ned, with grateful memory, “and that’s Almonte.”

“I’ve heard that he’s of different stuff,” said the Panther, “but it’s best to keep out of their hands.”

They were now riding swiftly almost due southward, having changed their course to follow the trail, and they kept a sharp watch ahead for Mexican scouts or skirmishers.  But the bare country in its winter brown was lone and desolate.  The trail led straight ahead, and it would have been obvious now to the most inexperienced eye that an army had passed that way.  They saw remains of camp fires, now and then the skeleton of a horse or mule picked clean by buzzards, fragments of worn-out clothing that had been thrown aside, and once a broken-down wagon.  Two or three times they saw little mounds of earth with rude wooden crosses stuck upon them, to mark where some of the wounded had died and had been buried.