that had been determined long ago. I thought we were in full route for Taylor's camp before Monterey."

"It is impossible," replied the Partisan. "I did hope at first to effect it, but the hope was delusive—the thing is a sheer impossibility. We are in the midst of out-laying parties of regulars and, what is worse yet, of guerrillas; and, worst of all, of these accursed Comanches."

"And to return?" asked Gordon.

"Is equally impossible."

"What then? For the love of Heaven, speak," cried the young husband, actually trembling with the violence of his anxiety and apprehension.

"It is impossible for a party, at once too strong to avoid discovery, and too weak to resist an enemy, to push on to Monterey, even if we had not a lady with us. I could, myself, run the gauntlet thither, and arrive in safety, though even that is doubtful. You, or she, at least, must remain in concealment until I can bring you such succour as will suffice to her safety."

"Remain in concealment, here?"

"Not here, exactly, nor yet very far distant."

"Can it be done?"

"I think it can, with safety—else had not named it."

"And whence will you seek succour?"

"When God and the fortunes of war shall send it. Perhaps not higher than the general's camp—perhaps I may stumble on Jack Hays, or Walker, or McCulloch, or Gillespie's rangers. They are on the scout almost all the time, either in the van or rear of the army; and now I think it likely they will be down here away, with the intent to open our communication. God send that they may."

"God send it so, indeed," replied Arthur Gordon, earnestly. "But what has led you so completely to alter your views and intentions?"

"That which I have seen with my own eyes, or heard with my own ears, last night."

"And what may that have been?"

"Listen. I was awakened last night by the sound of a scuffle and a faint groan. Before I could get on my feet, however, I had the pleasure of seeing that scoundrel, whose life we spared in the morning—and a stupid thing we did in sparing it—lead his horse out of the circle and leap on his back. There was no use in awakening you, so I untethered Emperor as quickly as I could, and out in pursuit of him. For all the speed I could make, he had got full a half mile away on the open prairie before I was in the saddle; but I cared little enough for that, seeing that in a five miles' race, I knew well enough that I could make up such a gap as that, and overhaul him, too, without much trouble. But what did vex me, and set me to thinking, was, that instead of making the best of his way back over the ground we had traversed in the morning, he struck off here to the north-west, riding as straight as if he had been following a beaten track, without a sign of hesitation, or so much as looking behind him."

"That was strange," said Gordon.

"I soon found out whither he was bound, and I was thinking of taking a straight course for the rancho, at which I saw he was aiming, when all at once I heard a yell in the forest, scarcely three hundred yards ahead of me, and before I had time to think, out galloped forty or fifty red skins from the forest, and drove right across the open ground right down upon our runaway. He felt that he was lost, I think, as soon as he saw them, for he made but a very sorry race of it, wheeling and turning to and fro, as if he knew not whither to fly, and the consequence was that they ran him down in less than ten minutes, and that within less than a hundred yards of the brake which hid me. If I had just then had ten rangers with me, armed with good western rifles, they never would have served him as they did, nor would one of them got off scot free. But what could I do? I was but one against fifty, and I knew not how soon my own turn might come: so I had only to stand by and look on while they—"

"Murdered him!" exclaimed Julia, covering both her eyes with her fair hands; "good God! how terrible!"

"Burnt him alive, lady," said the Partisan, coolly.

"Burnt him alive!" exclaimed Julia, whose hands had dropped from before her eyes into her lap at the first words of his reply. "Burnt him alive, and before your eyes!"

"Before my eyes, lady. Not a prayer, not a shriek, not a groan of the wretched devil escaped my ears, and the smell of his roasting flesh sickened and almost choked me," cried the Partisan.

"And why, why did you hold back?" exclaimed Julia, wildly catching him by the arm, "why did you not rush upon them?"

"I could but have died with him."

"Then should you have died with him," she cried, scarce knowing what she said. "Not to have done so, is not like the man I have heard you called—not like the man I took you for."

"Hush, Julia, hush!" cried her husband, springing to his feet. "Be silent, child, if you cannot speak reason—"

But Delacroix interrupted him, speaking very slowly, and with an inexpressibly mournful intonation of voice.

"Let her go on," he said. "It was for her sake I did it, and most meet it is that she should pay me for it with ingratitude. Who ever served or loved a woman and met with other guerdon for his services? I was a fool—I am a fool, but I did not expect this at her hands."

He hung down his bold head as he spoke, and one or two big tears, the first he had shed for years, rolled down his swarthy cheeks.

"And now bid your men strike the tent, and pack just what baggage your lady cannot spare. Pack it on the dragoon horse, whose saddle is left empty by that murderer's deed, who has dearly rued it. The rest with the tent and pontoon must be abandoned, and the mules that bore them must be slain. Let them hide everything in the chaparral; the sun will have set within an hour. Meanwhile, I will go forth and see that the coast is clear."

"But whither, whither are you about to lead us?" inquired Gordon, anxiously.

"If you trust me you will follow me, lieutenant, whithersoever I lead you. If not, you will not follow me at all, for if it be my intent to deceive you, I can do so by words as well as by actions.

"Oh, Major Delacroix!" exclaimed Julia, who had recovered from her bewilderment, and was sensible of the error she had committed, "you are offended, you are angry with me, and justly—I have been most ungrateful."

"Not angry, lady—not offended. A man cannot be angry with such a one as you, do what you will with him. I am disappointed, perhaps hurt, but certainly neither angry nor offended."

"You must forgive me," she exclaimed, springing passionately forward, and catching his hand in both her own, "you must—you must forgive me. I knew not then, I know not even now, what it was I said—will you but forgive me?"

"Surely I would, had I anything to forgive, sweet lady," he replied, with a grave, sad smile. "But I have nothing, unless it be," he added, with a low sigh, "my own folly. But a truce to this, we have indeed no time for parleying. Will you trust me and follow me? As we ride onward I will tell you whither."

"To the world's end," answered the beautiful girl, clasping her hands and blushing crimson with the violence of her own emotions. "To the world's end, if you will not forgive me."

"Now will you be so kind as to issue your orders to your men, lieutenant, and you, madam, to make your preparations for a ride which may extend through the night until day-break to-morrow?"

He spoke so decidedly that there was no excuse for attempting to prolong the conversation, and Gordon left the little tent immediately in order to give his directions, while the Partisan lifted his rifle from the ground where he had deposited it on entering, and turned to follow the young officer without saying another word.

But ere he had reached