wounded men in
need of assistance.

As I neared the place where the charge had been checked, I met
Corporal Frank Burton leading a black pony, gently stroking his nose
and talking soothingly to him, while the animal seemed half divided
between fear and newly awakened confidence.

"Oh, isn't he a beauty, sir!" exclaimed the boy--"isn't he just a
perfect beauty!"

"He certainly is a very handsome horse," I answered, after walking
around him and taking in all his graces and points. "Take him to the
stable and we will see to what use we can put him."

"Do you think it would be possible for me to own him, sir?" inquired
the boy, in an anxious voice.

"As spoil of war, corporal?"

"I suppose so, sir. I was first to capture him, you know."

Before I could reply to this we were startled by a loud whinny, a
little to the north, which was promptly answered by the black, and,
looking in that direction, we saw a cream-colored pony, with
high-erected head, looking anxiously in the direction of our captive.

"That seems to be a friend of your pony's," I said.

"Another beauty, too, sir! Can't we catch it for Henry?"

"Perhaps we can. It seems inclined to stay by this one. I see all the
other loose ponies have joined the Indians. But wait now until we look
over the field."

We now turned our attention to the prostrate bodies of the fallen
enemy. All were dead.

The body of El Ebano, clad in black buck-skin, ornamented with a
profusion of silver buttons, chains, and bracelets, lay face upward,
his resolute, handsome countenance still in the embrace of death. I
told the men we would give him and his comrades a warrior's burial on
the morrow, and returned to camp to make it defensible against a
possible night attack.

The advantage of numbers was decidedly on the side of the Indians, and
I felt if they could show the firmness and dash of white men our
chances of repelling a resolute attack were small. Counting the
Mexicans and the boys, we numbered but forty-eight, to their three
hundred or more.

We were in the centre of a large valley, with no knowledge of our
surroundings nor with any way out except the road by which we had
entered. Should we leave the protection of our ridge and cabins and
take to the open valley we should be at the mercy of our foes.

Even supposing we could pass out of the valley unmolested, there were
the forests and defiles, filled with natural ambuscades. We could not
hope to pass them and