I caused the sentinels to be increased, and, after dressing the wounds of the men and removing a bullet from Frank’s shoulder, went to bed without undressing.  After some half-hour of silence, Henry said: 

“Mr. Duncan.”

“Yes; what is it?”

“I’m going to name my pony Chiquita.”

“And I’m going to name mine Sancho,” added Frank.

“What are you going to do with the animals you brought here?” I asked.

“Turn them in in place of the two we captured,” answered Henry.

“All right; for general utility.  Good-night.”

“Good-night.  Thank you, sir.”

Half an hour before midnight the sergeant of the guard aroused me to report that strange noises could be heard from the rear of the camp.

I went to the top of the ridge and listened.  A sound like the dragging of branches over the ground, with occasional pauses, fell upon my ears.  I sent for the elder Cordova, and he listened long, with an ear close to the ground.  His opinion was that the Indians were creeping up for another attack.

Orders were sent to Sergeant Cunningham to wake the men without noise and assemble them at the barricades.

A little after midnight the moon rose over the mountains and bathed the valley in a beautiful light.

As the moon cleared herself from the summits of the range and her rays fell upon the line of paling camp-fires of the Indians, my field-glass revealed the fact that the raiders had departed.  Ponies and riders were gone.  In the whole length and breadth of the Great Valley not a living being was in sight outside the limit of our encampment.

An inspection to the rear, to the scene of the late conflict, revealed the fact that the body of El Ebano and the group of dead warriors which lay about him at nightfall had been taken away.  Their removal had caused the rushing and creeping sounds we had heard.

Mounting my horse, and accompanied by four men upon the four ponies, I crossed the valley to the Indian fires, but found nothing there except the horns, hoofs, and entrails of our captured cattle.  The flesh had probably been packed upon the Cordovas’ mule and burro to ration a raiding party into the valley of the Rio Grande.

A well-defined trail went back through the forest, which Cordova afterwards assured me led to the town of Pina Blanca.

Returning to camp, I wrote a letter to the commanding general, giving an account of the attack and its repulse, and despatched it by the Mexicans, who, taking cut-offs with which they were acquainted, and borrowing horses in relays at ranches on the way, delivered it next evening at Santa Fe.

The general sent a hundred troopers to Los Valles Grandes, where they came galloping into camp two evenings afterwards.  As Captain Wardwell sprang from his saddle and wrung my hand, he exclaimed: 

“God bless you, Duncan!  I came out expecting to bury the bones of you and your men.”