ire; there is a log."

Overton now perceived that he was lost. From under the log he cast a
glance around him: there stood the grim warriors, bow in hand, and ready
to kill him at his first movement. He understood that the savages had
been cruelly playing with him and enjoying his state of horrible
suspense. Though a scoundrel, Overton was brave, and had too much of
the red blood within him not to wish to disappoint his foes--he resolved
to allow himself to be burnt, and thus frustrate the anticipated
pleasure of his cruel persecutors. To die game to the last is an
Indian's glory, and under the most excruciating tortures, few savages
will ever give way to their bodily sufferings.

Leaves and dried sticks soon surrounded and covered the log--fire was
applied, and the barbarians watched in silence. But Overton had
reckoned too much upon his fortitude. His blood, after all, was but
half Indian, and when the flames caught his clothes he could bear no
more. He burst out from under the fire, and ran twice round within the
circle of his tormentors. They were still as the grave, not a weapon
was aimed at him, when, of a sudden, with all the energy of despair,
Overton sprang through the circle and took the fearful leap across the
chasm. Incredible as it may appear, he cleared it by more than two
feet: a cry of admiration burst from the savages; but Overton was
exhausted, and he fell slowly backwards. They crouched upon their
breasts to look down--for the depth was so awful as to giddy the brain--
and saw their victim, his clothes still in flames, rolling down from
rock to rock till all was darkness.

Had he kept his footing on the other side of the chasm, he would have
been safe, for a bold deed always commands admiration from the savage,
and at that time they would have scorned to use their arrows.

Such was the fate of Colonel Overton!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

At last, we passed the Rio Grande, and a few days more brought us to
Santa Fe. Much hath been written about this rich and romantic city,
where formerly, if we were to believe travellers, dollars and doubloons
were to be had merely for picking them up; but I suspect the writers had
never seen the place, for it is a miserable, dirty little hole,
containing about three thousand souls, almost all of them half-bred,
naked, and starved. Such is Santa Fe. You will there witness
spectacles of wretchedness and vice hardly to be found elsewhere--harsh
despotism;