s
himself and has some to sell, which is a very good record for a
Mexican."

"What's become of his pretty daughter?" asked Ellhorn. "Is she married
yet?"

"Amada? She's still here, and she's about the prettiest Mexican girl I
ever saw. She's a great belle among all the Mexicans from Muletown to
the other side of the Fernandez mountains, and with some of the
Americans, too. Will Whittaker used to hang around here a good deal,
and Amada seemed to be pretty well stuck on him."

Again the horses sprang to the pace they had kept so gallantly, and on
and on their hoofs flew over the low, rolling hills. The riders sat
their horses as if they were part and parcel of the beasts, horse and
rider with one will and one motion, and all galloping on with rhythmic
hoof-beats, neck to neck and heel to heel, without pause or slackened
pace, while the cold, dry night wind whistled past their ears and the
stars measured their courses through the violet blue of the bending
vault above. On they went over the slowly rising hills, and the
slender, silver sickle of the old moon shone brightly in the graying
east. Soon the mountains ranged themselves against the brightening
sky, and as they galloped, on and on, the stars vanished, and from out
the black void below the plain emerged, gray-green and grim, spreading
itself out, miles and miles into the distance, to the rimming mass of
mountains in the west. Still the hoof-beats rang out as the sky
blushed with the dawn and the cloud-flecks flamed crimson and the
peaks of the distant mountain range glittered with the first golden
rays.

Neck to neck and heel to heel they galloped on over the faint track
of the road, which now they could see, winding over the hills in front
of them. The men spoke cheerily to the horses and patted their wet
sides, and the spirited beasts still bent willingly to their task. The
three riders sat erect, straight-shouldered, graceful in their saddles
and the gentle morning breeze bathed their faces as on they rode over
the hills, while the sun mounted above the Fernandez range and flooded
all the plain with its soft, early light.

They swept around the curving bend in the road, where it half-circled
the corrals, and Ellhorn's lusty "Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee" rang out as they
drew rein at Mead's door; Las Plumas, the night and ninety miles
behind them. Ellhorn's yell brought the cook to the door, coffee-pot
in hand, with two _vaqueros_ following close behind. One of these