University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
THE LIEUTENANT'S STORY.

The partisan had not sat long alone,
ere the young officer returned and joined
him; yet, in that brief space, almost
all the actions and adventures of a not
uneventful life had passed through his
mind: so strongly had his imagination
been excited by the occurrences of the
evening.

Nor was it only to a retrospective
view that his spirit was moved, for
something seemed to tell him that with
the persons and circumstances of this
night, coming events were to be connected;
and that the great crisis of his
life, whether for good or evil, was not
now far distant.

Feelings and forebodings of this nature
are by no means unusual with men

of ardent temperaments, and lively imagination;
and such a man, emphatically,
was Pierre Delacroix, although
familiarity with strange perils, and
great experience, and yet greater confidence,
in his own resources, had tempered
the heat of his blood, and overcome
the inborn rashness of his temper;
and, although he would have probably
been sufficiently astonished, had he
been accused of possessing a romantic
fancy, such surely was the case.

When these presentiments, as is the
case nine times in ten, are followed by
no results, they are forgotten as though
they had never been; when, on the contrary,
after events confirm them, they
are regarded as almost miraculous, and
narrated, from generation to generation,
as distinct proofs of a supernatural
agency, busy with the affairs of men.

Whatever may be the truth in this
question, it is not within the scope of
our unassisted intellect to determine it;
nor do we propose further to touch upon
it, than briefly to remark that such an
impression was now strong on the mind
of the partisan, and that, although in no
wise superstitious or liable to be diverted
from his equanimity, much less from
his course of right, by any similar influence,
he was still moved somewhat, and
was inclined to anticipate some coming
evil, the expectation of which neither
his reason nor his acquired instincts
seemed to justify.

When the young soldier joined him,
however, he shook off the strange sensations
which were creeping over him,
and sat upright to receive his guest.

“Come, Mr. Gordon,” he said, “I
fancy that by this time you have got
your men settled for the night. Had
you not better take your pipe, and sit
down with me, that we may talk matters
over. By something you let fall
awhile ago, it seems that you have been
expecting to meet me at San Antonia,
although I knew it not, nor have been
there these two months. Now, you
must have had some end in seeking me;
and, until I know what that end is, I am
at a loss to see how I can aid you.”

“To make you understand that, Major
Delacroix—”

“Pardon me, sir,” replied the partisan,
hastily, “I have no great respect
for titles of any kind, least of all for
military titles, when not backed by military
rank and command. Now, it is
very true that I do hold a commission
as a major of Texan Horse, dating as
far back as the first blow that was struck
for independence; but I have not held a
command, nor have I struck a blow, or
fired a shot, these ten years, save for
my own pleasure; and I am no more a
major now, God be praised, than I am a
major-general, which seems to me about
the worst berth a man can hold now-a
under our government. No, sir,
I am Pierre Delacroix, or Pierre, the
partisan, or plain Pierre, just as men
choose to call me; but neither mister
nor major, nor any other gewgaw title!
Such things may do well enough in cities,
though I, for one, do not care much
about them, or think them very fitting
even there; but, in the wilderness here,
they are worse than nought. I'll none
of them. So, if you please, you will call
me Pierre, or Delacroix, or Partisan—
which most of my friends do call me—
as it best suits you. But none of your
majors!—No, no! none of your majors!
Browne was a major, for he had seen
service; and Pungold was a major, for
he did service; and the service lives
after the man, in the arm which he
created, and which won every battle on
this soil of Mexico, from Paloalto down
to Buena Vista. But I, no! no! God
be praised! I am no major—I command
no man but myself, and no man commands
me, now or ever.”

“To make you understand that, then,”
replied the young dragoon, a little embarrassed
by the manner of the Partisan,
and not exactly liking to address a person
who, whatever might be his present
position, had evidently at some or other
filled the place as he still preserved the
air of a gentleman, by tones so familiar
as he was directed to use—“I fear I
must trouble you with rather a long narrative.”

“The more need to begin it then at
once,” replied the Partisan dryly, “or it
will be morning before we have finished
it. Here is a pipe,” he continued,
reaching from his valise a curiously-carved
Indian bowl, which he fitted to a
stem and filled with the aromatic mixture
of tobacco, willow-bark, and some
sweet scented herb, “have you learned
yet to smoke kinnekinnink?”

“Oh! yes, I was for some time stationed
at Prairle du Chien, and since that at
the Council Bluffs; quite long enough
I assure you to learn how to enjoy all
the good things of this western country.”

And receiving the pipe from his hand
he lighted it by aid of an ember from the
woodfire, and occupied himself so long
in drawing it, and setting it going, without
saying one word about the subject to
be considered, that Pierre began to grow
impatient.

“Well,” he said, blowing a great
cloud of smoke out of his mouth, “you
were going to tell me”—and he paused
enquiringly.

“Yes. But confound me if know
where to begin.”

“At the beginning I should suppose,”
said the Partisan who was less and less
satisfied with the manner of his guest.

“Unless I begin with my own birth,”
returned the other—“hang me if I know
where the beginning is.”

“I hope at least that I have nothing
to do with that,” said Pierre with a
grim smile.

“With what? I do not understand
you.'

“With your birth to be sure. But
for heaven's sake come to the point, you
keep dodging about the bush as badly as
a Mexican Guerrilla, and it is about as
hard to find you out where you would
be.”

“The truth is, that I hardly know
myself,” said the young man. “Except
that I wish to the Lord I was not here.”

“Look you here young gentleman,”
replied the Partisan coolly. “You either
have or have not something to say to
me. If you have, I shall be glad to hear
it, and that as soon as possible; first,
because I am something sleepy; and,
secondly, because if you wish my service,
I must know how to serve you,
which I will do gladly for your wife's
sake. If you have nothing to say, I
shall be glad to hear that; for then I
can go to sleep now, and in the morning
we can eat our breakfasts together, and
set upon our beasts, and shake hands,
and so ride away, never most likely to
meet any more.”

“No, no. That will never do,” cried
young Gordon. “For it is on you that
we have counted all along for taking us
safely to our journey's end.”

“Well. We have gained something
at least. Now, where may that very
definite place, which you call your journey's
end, be? and as the next question,
what made you count upon me?”

“Our journey's end,—Taylor's
camp of course, where else should it
be?”

“Anywhere else, I should think, considering
the means you have of getting
thither, and the company you have with
you! You do not really mean to say,
that you contemplate carrying that beautiful
and delicate young woman with
you to headquarters—the thing is utter
madness.”

“And yet my destination is head-quarters;
and she has no home, save my
tent.”

“Julia Forester—John Forester's
daughter no home!” cried the Partisan
in far louder tones than he was wont to
use, and starting to his feet, half indignant
and half astonished,—“Did I understand
you aright, young sir? Did
you say, Julia Forester has no home
save in the tent of a second liedtenant of
dragoons?”

“I did say precisely that, Pierre Delacroix,”
answered the soldier, nettled
a little by the manner of his questioner,
and shaking off his momentary embarrassment
the instant he was put upon
his mettle.

“When I knew Colonel John Forester,
he was reputed to be worth a million
of dollars,” said Pierre.

“When I knew him,” replied Arthur
Gordon, “he was reputed to be worth
two, at the lowest figure.”

“And has he become a bankrupt,
since then, or a beggar?” asked the
other sharply.

“Neither, that I ever heard. Au contraire,
he is, all but one or two, the
richest man they say in Louisiana.”

“And why the devil, then, did he
give you his daughter for a wife, and
not give you the means to sustain her?”

“I never said that he did give her to
me!” said the other steadily.

“You said she was your wife.”

“I did say so, and do.”

“You stole her from him, then,” and
he spoke with extreme severity, and
even laid his hand on the hilt of the

only weapon he now bore—his hunting
knife. “You stole, from my old friend,
my second father, from honest brave
John Forester, his daughter—his only
child? Speak, young man, I must
know all now.”

“Stole is an awkward word, sir!”
replied Gordon, whose face had flushed
fiery red, while he was speaking. “A
very awkward word for one soldier to
hear applied to himself, by another.”

“A very awkward word, indeed,
sir,” answered the Partisan, even more
coldly than before, “to hear; but a
much more awkward thing to do. I
hope yet to hear that you have not done
it.”

“You take a very strange way of
learning. Insulting a man, is a new
mode of insinuating yourself into his
confidence.”

“Hark you, sir,” said Pierre Delacroix.
“Words are the names of
things, no more. All things have their
right names; and here, in the wilderness,
far away from the hollowness and
the falsehood of cities, men call things
by their right names. I do at least, always,
when I know them. Now you
tell me that Julia Forester is your wife,
and that John Forester did not give her
to you—therefore the only two modes
by which I can conceive your having
acquired her, are buying or stealing
her. Men do not generally sell their
daughters, except in Circassia—their
wives, some English noblemen, I believe,
and some of our Indians, I'm
told, do sell—therefore, I'm pretty sure
you did not buy her; and, thence, na
turally I deduce it, that you stole her.
Now I think stealing anything a very
bad act—even an Indian horse—thief's
horse. But to steal an old man's only
daughter is an atrocious act; and if
you have done that act, you must look
to hear that act called by its right and
very name.”

“In the first place, Julia is not John
Forester's only daughter—in the second
place, I must ask a definition of what
you are pleased to call stealing a man's
daughter.”

“Not John Forester's only daughter?
What do you mean, sir? Do not trifle
with me! It were not safe to do so;
least of all on this subject.”

`Before I reply, I await an answer
to my question. How do you define
`stealing a man's daughter?”'

“Carrying her off clandestinely, of
course; and marrying her without, or
against, his consent. That is what I
call stealing. You fine boys from the
cities call it `running away,' I believe,
or `eloping'—and think it a very knowing
trick. I call it `stealing'—and
think it a very dirty trick. Now do
you understand?”

“Perfectly; and, though I have
something farther to say by and bye
on the subject, I beg to inform you that
I did not steal Julia Forester; even by
your definition. Since, though I certainly
did carry her off, it was not clandestinely,
but with distinct notice given
that I should do so; and, though I certainly
did marry her in the very teeth
of her father's consent, I did so with as
open a face, and as honest a heart, as you
bear at this instant, Pierre Delacroix.
Now, sir,” he added, raising his voice
a little, “how did you dare to charge
me with stealing, before you knew the
fact that I had stolen, even according to
your own showing?”

“Pshaw! Pshaw! young sir, you do
not know your man. Pierre Delacroix
dares do anything.”

“Then I have been misinformed,”
returned the dragoon, with a great deal
of dignity. “For I have always heard
that Pierre Delacroix did not dare anything
which misbecomes a man.”

For an instant, the dark eye of the
Partisan flashed living fire; but, ere
another had elapsed, he had recollected
himself, and controlled his hasty temper;
and he replied with perfect quiettude
and self-respect.

“I believe that you are right, Lieutenant
Gordon, and that I have spoken
with perhaps improper bluntness; but,
as I have said, we men of the southwest
do not stand on your city nicety of phrases,
and are apt to name things as it strikes
us that they are, whether good or evil.
Beside this, you must remember that
John Forester is the oldest friend I have
on earth; that I love, esteem, and venerate
him above every human being;
and that a wrong done to him, or his,
wounds me in the tenderest place. But
I was wrong, I admit it, to assume that
an injury had been done, however adverse
appearances might be, until I

knew the fact. That was unwise and
unworthy of a man of experience. If
this will satisfy you, accept it. When
I have heard more of your tale, as I
ought to have done before speaking, I
may perhaps be enabled to offer you
more. Until then this must suffice.”

“And it does suffice,” answered Gordon.
sitting down, “for I can respect
your motives, even when I cannot tolerate
your manner. But it is possible
that a young man may be justified in
carrying off an old man's daughter;
and if you will be pleased to hear me
out, I think you will admit that I was.”

“It will be hard to make me believe
that John Forester was sordid, selfish,
or unreasonable; and unless he were
one of these I cannot conceive any justification.”

“What if he were under the dominion,
and acted at the dictation of another?”

“John Forester? impossible!”

“We are but playing at cross purposes.
You were best to hear me out, and so
substitute a short story for a long debate.”

“Pray let us do so.”

“It is six years since I first visited
New Orleans; and being the bearer of
letters to Colonel Forester was received
hospitably and entertained in his house,
where he then lived nominally alone,
with the exception of his only daughter,
Julia, at that time a beautiful girl of
fourteen. Being very young myself,
we were thrown much together; a sort
of childish affection, half liking and
half love, grew up between us—not altogether
childish either; for it constantly
increased, during three years which
I spent in the city, until it became a
powerful passion. So evident was our
mutual partiality from the very first
that it was a matter of constant jest
among the friends of the family; and
that Colonel Forester himself used to
call Julia, `Mrs. Gordon.' When I
entered the army, on the first raising of
the second dragoon regiment, and before
leaving the city for the northwest, I
had an explanation with the Colonel;
and it was understood, and agreed, that
at some future period, which was left
undecided, Julia should be my wife.
We were permitted to correspond, and
I mounted my horse and rode away
with my regiment, as light-hearted and
happy a soldier as ever set jack boot in
steel stirrup. Amid the wild excitements
of a frontier life, among hardships,
and toils and something of actual
perils, the reflection of the past and the
hope of the future never left me.—
from time to time—at long intervals, it
is true, but still sufficiently often to keep
interest and hope alive and warm within
me—I received letters from my betrothed,
of which I shall only say that they
were all that the most sanguine lover
could desire.

“After a while, however, a difference
in their tone became apparent. Not
indeed in the manifestation of affection
but of hope. There was a despondency,
a fear, an occasional expression of
anxiety and doubt—indefinite, and
coupled with strong injunctions, not to
comment upon it in my replies, which
was more than enough to harass my
mind, and drive me almost mad. Ere
long, the despondency expressed in her
letters increased. until it became something
skin to despair. She spoke openly
of adverse interests at work against
us, of under-hand and illegitimate influences,
with dark allusions to persecution
and domestic tyranny, from quarters
the most infamous and degrading;
but all still coupled with the injunction to
be silent; to hope for the best; and to
trust all to her affection. At length,
her letters ceased altogether; and I
was months without receiving any tidings
from her. When the present war
broke out I was sent castward to recruit;
and had no opportunity of visiting
New Orleans, although my brain
and my heart were both on fire to do so.
Three months since I received, the first
time for nearly a year, a short hurried
agonizing note from Julia, entreating
me to come to her, without an instant's
delay, as her misery was too great to be
endured, and one way or other she
must release herself from it.

“For once, fortune favored me; for
the same post which brought her letter,
brought orders to the captain of my
company to send me forward instantly
with the men we had raised, to the
very city in which I most desired to be.
A fornight afterward, I was on the spot,
and learned all the infamous and horrid
truth.

“Your friend, the high and honorable
soldier, whom I had known of old—
the very pattern and impersonation of
uprightness, and chivalry, and true nobility
of soul—had so far lapsed in the
decline of his intellectual powers from
his once glorious standard, as to have
made a colored woman—his own emancipated
slave and formerly his mistress—
his lawful wife and the partner of his fortunes;
placing her openly at the head
of his table, and bringing his illegitimate
daughters, the offspring of his foul
concubinage, into equality of station
and society with his own beautiful, and
pure, and noble child—with my Julia!”

“Great God!” exclaimed the Partisan,
bounding to his feet almost in fury;
“Great God! can this be so? Can
age and the natural decline of the mental
faculties so change the highest and
most virtuous characters—so transform
the purest and most generous into the
base, the grovelling, the sensual—so
degrade the almost godlike man below
the animal? Great God! can this be
so? Would—would to heaven that he
had died before he did the deed of
shame! Would that I had been near
to him; for, by the Lord that liveth, if
neither argument nor entreaty should
have had power to prevail over such
low and beast-like passion, my hand—
my own hand, which has caressed his
cheeks and played with his grey hairs
so often—my own hand should have
spared him the infamy, and slain him
in his untained honor. Go on! go on!
Lieutenant Gordon—I have wronged
you—I have wronged myself by my
passion, by my suspicion! But who
could have dreamed of this? Go on!
go on! I will make you amends if it
cost me my life!”

“But this was not all, nor half of all
that poor Julia suffered; for the incarnate
devil, whom I must call Mrs.
Forester, not content with forcing the
deluded old man into the rescinding of
his will, and bequeathing all but a mere
pittance to herself and base-born children,
never ceased persecuting him
day or night, till she procured his promise
to send Julia secretly away to
Europe, there to be immured in a convent;
fearing unquestionably that if
she should be married to an American
gentleman and soldier, her husband
would find some means to frustrate the
enormities she had planned so artfully,
and secure a share, at least, of the partial
old man's fortunes. I had an interview
with him, though not without
much difficulty; I offered to forego all—
to sign away all claims on her behalf
and my own, provided he would give
me her hand, portionless and alone.—
For a while I thought I had prevailed;
but the fiend entered the room, and I
saw the old man quail before the gaze
of her fierce snake-like eye, and all
was lost. Then I, too, lost my temper;
and I swore by the God who made me,
and by the hell to which that woman's
deeds were leading her, that her plans
should be frustrated, and that Julia
should be my wife in spite of man or
devil. I got brief leave of absence, on
promise to join at head-quarters, before
the last day of the present month—embarked
my recruits with my second
lieutenant; and, on the third day after,
Forester's garden wall was scaled, his
daughter's window broken, and before
the day dawned she was my bride.

“Still flight was needful, and we
fled; for by his wrath, and the unscrupulous
wickedness of her who prompted
him, we might still have been separated
for a while, if not for ever. We
fled, I say, to Natchez, and thence to
Natchitoches, where by good fortune I
found the little squad of dragoons who
escort me, making their way down the
river to join my party, which they had
been detailed to enter as a veteran nucleus.
With them, and this letter to
yourself from an old friend of mine,
who has, I believe, lived with you,
Frank Arrowsmith of ours, I have made
my way thus far safely; though sorely
disappointed at not meeting you as I
hoped to do, in San Antonio de Bexar.
This is the whole that I have done—
you have heard all. The rest remains
with you.”

“Well, sir, you have done well. As
well as any man could do; and not
only as well, but the only thing that a
man and a gentleman could do, even if
it were for a woman he did not love.
Had he done otherwise, he would deserve
shooting. The rest, you say remains
with me; but what that rest is,
unless it be to offer you my hand, and

to ask your pardon very frankly for my
rudeness, I know not.”

“Oh! that is granted, I assure you,
without asking it,” said Gordon, evidently
well pleased at having got
through his unpleasant disclosure, and
wringing the hard hand of the Partisan
as heartily as it was freely offered. “I
meant, however, something very different,
as you will see, when you shall
have opened Frank Arrowsmith's despatch.”

“Which there would be mighty
little use in doing to-night, seeing that
our camp fires have all burned low,
and will soon be out,—which is a good
thing, by the way, since all the service
they could render us, would be to bring
down a half-dozen roving Camanches,
or some of that scoundrel Carrera's ragamuffin
horse upon our bivouac. I
could not see to read it if I were to open
it; and, as it regards yourself, I fancy
you can tell me the contents as well or
better than any one.”

“Why he expected that we should
find you at San Antonio—why, I am
sure, I do not know—”

“Nor I, by heaven! since I never
sleep in a town or in a bed three times
a year if I can help it,” said the Partisan.

“And in that expectation gave me a
letter to you, commending us to your
care. He told me that if you would
undertake it, you could guide us in safely
into Taylor's camp, through all the
guerillas in Mexico.”

“He did me too little, and too much
justice. Too little, in supposing that
there was any if about it. The idea
of Pierre Delacroix refusing to guide
or assist a lady in the midst of danger!
As to my being able to carry you safely
into Taylor's camp, that's quite
another thing. According to him, the
old Partisan is worth more than a whole
New York regiment—for the last news
was that Lally is cut off, and has laid
down his arms with all the eleventh, to
a horde of these guerilla vagabonds.
I don't believe one half of it, to be sure;
but what is true, is this, that not a
single train has got through safely in
the last four months—no, not the half
of a train, though they are convoyed
each by five or six hundred foot, and!
a company or two of dragoons. Oh
there is the devil to pay, I can tell you.
These fellows are getting their pluck
up, and are beginning to fight like the
deuce under their own leaders,—there's
that fellow, the Padre Jarauta, as they
call him, will give Uncle Sam more
trouble than Santa Anna and the whole
lot of his generals. Here to day, and
a hundred miles off to-morrow. Nothing
but horse—nothing but horse are
worth a cent against them; and we
have no horse to speak of, and what we
have, for the most part scarce worth the
forage of their horses. You dragoon fellows
and the mounted rifles can do your
work; but I would not give Jack Hays
and one company of his old rangers, for
all the volunteer horse together. Not
one man in ten can sit his horse if it
swerves, as they all do when it comes
under fire. More saddles are emptied
in every charge, by the fellows tumbling
slap out of them, than by the bullets
of the enemy. It is enough to
make a horse swear, to think of the
blundering of the government at home.
They seem to think that cavalry are
made in five minutes, and that the moment
they have stuck five or six hundred
country lawyers and village storekeepers
upon the backs of unbroken
and unbitted wagon-horses, they are at
once horse. Why, heaven save the
mark! with the exception of artillery
alone, there is no arm in the service
that needs so much training as horse.
Give me five thousand good horse, and
a battery or two of curricle guns and
mountain howitzers, and I'll engage to
keep all our communications open far
and near; and, till they do so, we shall
always be blocked up, as we are now,
and hemmed in with these scoundrels
almost in sight of our outposts.”

“You think, then that there is great
risk?”

“I must not deceive you. I do
think so. I am just on my return from
a long scout on my own hook, as they
say, through all this border country,
and a good way inland, too, for I had a
notion to find out what was going
forward where our fellows have not
been. So I struck northward from Monterey,
and held to the westward of San
Fernando, and Gigedo, and Monclova;
and then, to the northward of the last,
turned easterly so far as Espada,

whence I was about to make my way
back to Monterey, as fast as Emperor
could carry me; for between ourselves,
I have picked up some information that
old Zachary would give one of his ears
to have now, and I have captured some
despatches also. But they must wait,
it seems, for I am no one's man now, as
I told you, and they can neither cashier
me for disobedience, nor shoot me
for deserting, that is one comfort; and,
since such is the case, why I must try
to see you and my old friend's—damn
it! I scarcely know if I ought to call
him friend—daughter out of the scrape.
Though how I am to do it, hang me if
I know. Can she ride well?”

“Better than any man in the regiment!
her hand is like a feather, her
seat as firm as a rock, and her nerve
most miraculous.”

“And her endurance; that is the
quality there is most likelihood of testing.”

“We have never made less than thirty
miles any day; and she has never
shown fatigue.”

“We may have to make sixty; and
fifty to one, shall have to leave those
mules behind us.”

“Is there so much danger?”

The country is alive with horse.
Every village is in arms, every rancho
has turned out its riders, and keen
riders they are, I assure you. Why,
between us and the fences, and all the
way towards Encinos there are not less
than a thousand men scattered about
in little bands, from six to fifty and upward.
Here we are, above the Presidio
road; and what the devil brought you
above it, I don't know; and I am sure
you don't. I fancy you must have lost
your way. You should have gone
down as low as Mier, on Camargo; or,
better yet, to Matamoras; and so taken the
chance of a train and convoy. But it
is no use talking about it now; for that
game's up.”

“Why up?”

Carrera and five hundred horse are
between us and Revilla now, partly on
the look out for your humble servant;
I had half a mind to go down, and take
a look at them, till I met you. If I
could get within three hundred yards
of the dog, I'd pay him a debt, that
Brown Bess”—he smiled grimly, and
tapped the breach of his rifle, “owes
him.”

“And is there no chance of running
the gauntlet of their parties, and getting
through clear?”

“None, under heaven! They know
that I have got these despatches, and
fancy that I shall try to fall down upon
Mier. But I am no fool. Our only
chance is the straight inland road, keeping
clear of the villages, and travelling,
hereafter, as much as we can by night.
I shall be easier, when we have got old
Bravo here between us and the hounds.”

“Are they so formidable?”

“I can hardly fancy irregular horse
more formidable. They are capitally,
though slightly mounted—well armed
with a lance fourteen feet long, with a
sharp steel head of eighteen inches;
two escopetas, or light ounce ball, carabines;
a long straight sword, a knife,
and lasso, with which they can catch
you or your horse any where they please,
both at full gallop. They ride admirably,
and fight devilish well; do you
call that formidable?”

“Rather so. I must confess.”

“Rather so? I believe you! Why
it was only yesterday morning, eight of
them stole upon me while I was eating
my breakfast under the lee of a muskeet
thicket. I shot one with my rifle
before I backed Emperor, and two with
my pistols afterward; and charged
through them sword in hand, knocking
one head over heels, and cutting another
half through the shoulder. But the
other three still stuck to me, firing their
cursed escopetas—one of them did send
a bullet through my hunting shirt and
barked my bridle arm—and as the
ground was deep and boggy, I could
not ride away from them; they chased
me all of five miles, and, curse me! if
I dared turn my head to see how far off
they were from me, for fear of seeing a
lance point within a hand's breath, of
my kidneys. Faith! I believe they
were so close as that to me once. I
could not get time to load a weapon;
I had put up my sword, to hold the
horse together better in the deep
ground, and, to tell you the truth, I did
think that my time was come, and expected
nothing but a dig with a spear
in the small of my back, or a check
with a lasso round my neck, at every

stride of the horse. At last to my
great joy, I saw a stream before me,
the first I had seen in two days; a deep
muddy, black-looking brook, creeping
along with dark eddies between very
boggy banks. It must have been twenty
teet of water, if it was an inch.

`Here goes,' I cried aloud, `if I get
over it, curse me if they can!' So I
sat well down in the saddle, and took
Emperor hard by the head, and sent
my spurs in rowel deep! and we were
over in a minute! By good luck
though, I knew what was coming, as if
by instinct; so I whipped my knife out
in a second, and held it straight before
my face with the back touching my
nose and chin; so when the bloody
lasso came, as I knew it would, whistling
over my head and about my ears,
it took the edge of the blade, before it
took my wind-pipe, and was in two
pieces before you could say `cut.'
Then I looked round, I promise you. I
wish you'd seen the Don's face, with
his black eyes goggling, and his mouth
wide open, when he saw his lasso come
home empty. `Es el diablo mismo!'
said he. So I gave him a grin and a
yell, and began to load my rifle, as fast
as I could. So, seeing that their escopetas
were all three empty, and that
their lassos could not reach me, and
that their nags could not take the water,
why they began to think discretion the
better part of valor, and took themselves
off as quickly as they could; not so
quickly though—for their horses were
pretty well blown, and the bog deep and
treacherous—but that I got Bess loaded,
and knocked one of them out of his
saddle, for a finish. He must have
been nigh four hundred yards off, so that
I did not kill him, but he sat mighty
clumsily in his saddle when he climbed
up again. That's the last brush I had
with them, and now my pipe's out, and
it's late. Do you go and bid your men
to put no more wood on the fires, and
lie down one and all, and get all the
sleep they can. They will need it, before
we reach Monterey.”

“What, will you have no sentinel?”

“I would rather have my brown
horse, Emperor, for a sentinel, than all
the dragoons in the United States, or
out of it. Though he is lying down
and asleep now he has got one ear
pricked, and one eye open, I'll be
bound for him. Do what I bid you;
and then get to your bed yourself. I
wake you before the morning star is up,
to-morrow.”

Gordon arose, well satisfied that the
Partisan knew his business far better
than he, and went away to do his bidding,
much to the delight of the unfortunate
dragoon who was pacing up and
down with his carabine in the hollow of
his arm, envying his more lucky comrades
their sound and healthy slumbers.

This duty done, the young officer
hurried back to his tent and his fair
bride; and in doing so, passed close to
the bivouac of the Partisan.

He had wrapt himself close in
handsome blanket, with his knife drawn
in one hand, and his pistol in the other,
ready for instant defence on the least
alarm; and, with his head resting in the
hollow of his large Spanish saddle, was
already buried in deep and dreamless
sleep.

In ten minutes more there was not an eyelid open of man or animal in the
eneampment; and the broad lustrous
northern moon, sailing in a flood of
silver glory through the azure firmament,
alone watched over them, like
the unsleeping eye of an all-seeing providence.