the terrible tulzie Bombazo had never once been either seen or heard. Nor
could he be anywhere found after the fight, nor even after the camp was
struck, though search was made for him high and low.

Some one suggested that he might have been overcome by fear, and might
have hidden himself. Moncrieff looked incredulous. What! the bold Bombazo
be afraid--the hero of a hundred fights, the slayer of lions, the terror
of the redskins, the brave hunter of pampas and prairie? Captain Rodrigo
de Bombazo hide himself? Yet where could he be? Among the slain? No. Taken
prisoner? Alas! for the noble redman. Those who had escaped would hardly
have thought of taking prisoners. Bombazo's name was shouted, the wood was
searched, the waggons overhauled, not a stone was left unturned,
figuratively speaking, yet all in vain.

But, wonderful to relate, what _men_ failed to do a _dog_ accomplished. An
honest collie found Bombazo--actually scraped him up out of the sand,
where he lay buried, with his head in a tussock of grass. It would be
unfair to judge him too harshly, wrong not to listen to his vouchsafed
explanation; yet, sooth to say, to this very day I believe the little man
had hidden himself after the manner of the armadillos.

'Where is my sword?' he shouted, staggering to his feet. 'Where is the
foe?'

The Scotchmen and even the Gauchos laughed in his face. He turned from
them scornfully on his heel and addressed Moncrieff.

'Dey tried to keel me,' he cried. 'Dey stunned me and covered me up wit'
sand. But here I am, and now I seek revenge. Ha! ha! I will seek
revenge!'

Old Jenny could stand it no longer.

'Oh, ye shameless sinner!' she roared. 'Oh, ye feckless fusionless winner!
Let me at him. _I'll_ gie him revenge.'

There was no restraining Jenny. With a yell like the war cry of a clucking
hen, she waved her umbrella aloft, and went straight for the hero.

The blow intended for his head alighted lower down. Bombazo turned and
fled, pursued by the remorseless Jenny; and not even once did she miss her
aim till the terror of the redskins, to save his own skin, had taken
refuge beneath the caravan.

* * * * *

As at sea, so in travelling. Day after day, amid scenes that are for ever
new, the constantly recurring adventure and incident suffice to banish
even thoughts of the dead themselves. But neither seafarers nor travellers
need be ashamed of this; it is only natural. Go