idst of bales of goods
laid open, and of which only the coverings remained upon the ground, to
tell of plunder taken from some unfortunate _arriero_.

On the right bank of the river--that side on which lay the hacienda San
Carlos--was the principal encampment. There stood a large,
rudely-shaped tent, constructed out of the covers of the despoiled
packages--pieces of coarse hempen canvas and sack cloth, woven from the
fibres of the maguey.

Two guerilleros, armed from head to foot, with carbines, swords,
pistols, and knives, mounted guard on each side of it, pacing to and
fro, but at such a distance from the tent that neither could hear what
might be said within.

This rude marquee was the head-quarters of the two leaders, Arroyo and
Bocardo, both of whom were at that moment inside. They were seated upon
the skulls of bullocks, which served them for chairs, each smoking a
cigarette rolled in the husk of Indian corn. From the attitude
presented by Arroyo--his eyes bent upon the ground, which was cut up by
the long heavy rowels of his spurs, it was evident that his astute
associate was employing arguments to influence him to some deed of
crime.

"Most certainly," said the latter, with an air of drollery, "I am
disposed to do justice to the good qualities of the Senora Arroyo; they
are truly admirable. When a man is wounded, she volunteers to sprinkle
red pepper over his wounds. Nothing can be more touching than the way
she intercedes for the prisoners we condemn to death--that is, that they
may be put to death as slowly as may be--I mean as gently as possible."

"Ah, that is not selfishness on her part," interrupted the husband.
"She does so to please me rather than herself--poor thing."

"True, she is greatly devoted to you--a worthy woman, indeed! Still,
camarado," continued Bocardo with a hesitation that told he had finished
speaking the praises of Madame Arroyo; "you will acknowledge she is
neither young nor very pretty."

"Well--say she is old and ugly," answered Arroyo, "she suits my purpose
for all that."

"That's strange enough."

"It's less strange than you think for. I have my reasons. She shares
with me the execration of the public; and if I were a widower--"

"You would have to bear it all on your own shoulders. Bah! they are
broad enough for that!"

"True," replied Arroyo, flattered at the compliment, "but you, _amigo_,
have also a share of that load. It isn't often that the name of Arr