the crescent of the moon to grow more and more brilliant, under the
light of which the camp appeared picturesque.

On the rising ground which overlooked the whole entrenchment, arose, as
we have said, the chief's tent with its floating banner. A feeble light
from within indicated that he was still watching, and several fires,
made in holes dug in the sand or surrounded by stones--lest their light
should betray their position--threw a subdued red glare around; while,
in case of attack, fagots were prepared to illumine the camp. Groups of
men lying down, and others preparing the evening meal, were mingled with
the horses and mules, who were eating their rations of maize.

The careless and satisfied look upon every face, showed that these men
confided the care of their defence wholly to their chief. At the
entrance to the tent lay a man, like a dog watching over his master; and
from his long hair and the guitar by the side of his rifle, it was easy
to recognise Oroche. His time seemed to be divided between the
contemplation of a heaven glittering with stars, and the care of keeping
up a fire of green wood, the smoke of which rose in a vertical column
silvered by the moon. Beyond the entrenchments the moonlight whitened
the plain, and even the fog which covered the summits of a chain of
mountains which were visible in the horizon.

Behind the carts paced the sentinels, carbine in hand. Among the
various groups of men scattered about were Benito, the servant of Don
Estevan, and Baraja. They were engaged in conversation.

"Senor Benito," said Baraja, speaking to the old herdsman, "you who are
so well acquainted with all the affairs of these deserts, can you
explain to me what is the cause of these shots, which we have been
hearing ever since noon, and which can only be fired by our enemies, the
Indians?"

"It is difficult to say," answered Benito; "but certainly they must have
some good reason for wasting so much powder--a scarce article among
them. It appears probable enough that poor Cuchillo is captured; or may
be the Senor Gayferos, who was sent after him."

"But why should they keep firing from time to time?--one shot would be
enough to put an end to either Cuchillo or Gayferos; whereas we have
heard volleys."

"Ah! it may be that the savages are practising one of their horrible
modes of punishment--perhaps they are firing at their victims merely for
the sport. There is one terrible torture they inflict