devil who has ridden him has met with a double accident: he has not only
lost his horse, but also his water-bottle. See!"

The guide pointed to an object lying upon the ground by the shoulder of
the fallen horse, and still attached by a strap to the saddle. It was a
leathern water-bottle apparently broken and empty. In fact, its
position proved that the horse, enfeebled by the heat and thirst, had
fallen suddenly to the earth, and the bottle, hardened by the sun, and
coming in contact with the animal's shoulder, had got crushed either by
the fall, or in the struggle that succeeded it. A large fracture was
visible in the side of the vessel, through which the water had escaped
to the very last drop.

"We are likely enough by and by to stumble upon his owner:" suggested
Cuchillo, while he examined the trappings of the dead horse, to see if
there might be anything worth picking up. "_Por Dios_!" he continued,
"this reminds me that I have the very devil's thirst myself," and as he
said this, he raised his own bottle to his head, and swallowed some
gulps from it.

The tracks of a man upon the sandy surface, indicated that the traveller
had continued his route on foot; but the footmarks showed also, that he
must have tottered rather than walked. They were unequally distant from
each other, and wanted that distinctness of shape, that would have been
exhibited by the footsteps of a man standing properly on his legs.

These points did not escape the keen eyes of Cuchillo, who was one of
those individuals who could read such dumb signs with an unfailing
certainty.

"Beyond a doubt," said he, taking another gulp from his bottle, "the
traveller cannot be far off."

His conjecture proved correct. A few moments after, the body of a man
was seen by the side of the path, lying upon the ground, and perfectly
motionless. As if this individual had intended that his countenance
should be hidden from the eyes of any one passing, a broad palm-leaf hat
covered the whole of his face.

The costume of this traveller in distress, betrayed a certain degree of
poverty. Besides the hat already mentioned, which appeared old and
battered, a rusty-coloured Indian shirt, somewhat torn, and a pair of
pantaloons of nankeen, with common filigree buttons, appeared to be his
only garments. At least they were all that could be noticed in the
obscure twilight.

"Benito," said Don Estevan, calling to one of his servants, "knock off
with the b