in case any of the Indians should be descried upon the prairie.

We all felt that we were still in a dilemma. The Navajo was our
captive, and his men would come to seek for him. He was too important a
personage (second chief of the nation) to be abandoned without a search,
and his own followers, nearly half of the tribe, would certainly be back
to the spring. Not finding him there, should they not discover our
tracks, they would return upon the war-trail to their country.

This, we all saw, would render our expedition impracticable, as Dacoma's
band alone outnumbered us; and should we meet them in their mountain
fastnesses, we should have no chance of escape.

For some time Seguin remained silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground.
He was evidently tracing out in his mind some plan of action. None of
the hunters chose to interrupt him.

"Comrades!" said he at length, "this is an unfortunate _coup_, but it
could not be avoided. It is well it is no worse. As it is, we must
alter our plans. They will be sure to return on his track, and follow
their own trail back to the Navajo towns. What then? Our band cannot
either come on to the Pinon or cross the war-trail at any point. They
would discover our tracks to a certainty."

"Why, can't we go straight up to whar the rest's cached, and then take
round by the old mine? That won't interfere with the war-trail nohow."
This was proposed by one of the hunters. "Vaya!" rejoined a Mexican;
"we should meet the Navajoes just when we had got to their town!
Carrai! that would never do, amigo. There wouldn't many, of us get back
again. Santisima! No."

"We ain't obleeged to meet them," argued the first speaker. "They're
not a-goin' to stop at thur town when they find the nigger hain't been
back."

"It is true," said Seguin, "they will not remain there. They will
doubtless return on the war-trail again; but I know the country by the
mine."

"So do I! So do I!" cried several voices. "There is no game,"
continued Seguin. "We have no provisions; it is therefore impossible
for us to go that way."

"We couldn't go it, nohow."

"We should starve before we had got through the Mimbres."

"Thar's no water that way."

"No, by gosh! not enough to make a drink for a sand-rat."

"We must take our chances, then," said Seguin. Here he paused
thoughtfully, and with a gloomy expression of countenance.

"We must cross the trail," he continued, "and go by the Prieto, or