s leading to the
cibolero's own camp--they would soon discover the lodges--perhaps they
had already made their attack--perhaps--

The reflections of the cibolero were suddenly interrupted; distant
sounds fell upon his ear--shouts and cries of fearful import--with that
continued murmur that results from the mingling of many voices in loud
and confused clamour. Now and then was heard a whoop, or a cheer, or a
shrill whistle, rising above the ordinary noises, and carrying far over
the plain its tones of triumph or revenge.

Carlos knew the import of those shouts and cries--they were the sounds
of battle!--of terrible and deadly strife!

They came from behind the hill--the cibolero was just climbing it.

He spurred his horse, and, galloping forward to its crest, looked down
into the valley. The conflict was raging before him!

He had a full view of the dreadful scene. Six hundred dusky horsemen
were riding about on the plain; some dashing at each other with couched
lances--some twanging their bows from a distance; and others close
together in the hand-to-hand combat of the deadly tomahawk! Some were
charging in groups with their long spears--some wheeling into flight,
and others, dismounted, were battling on foot! Some took shelter among
the timber islands, and sprang out again as they saw an opportunity of
sending an arrow, or lancing a foeman in the back; and so the red
contest continued.

Not a shot was heard--neither bugle nor drum sent forth their inspiring
notes--no cannon rolled its thunder--no rocket blazed--no smoke spread
its sulphury cloud upon the air; but without these sights and sounds
there was no fear of mistaking that contest for a mimic game--a
tournament of the prairies. The wild war-whoop, and the wilder
whistle--the earnest onslaught--the fierce charging cheer--the cries of
triumph and vengeance--the neighing steeds without riders--here and
there the prostrate savage, with skinless scalp, glaring red in the
sun--the spears and hatchets crimsoned with blood,--all were evidence of
real and deadly strife, and Carlos did not doubt for a moment the
character of the scene. Before him was an Indian fight--Waco and Pane
engaged in the earnest struggle of life and death!

All this he comprehended at a glance, and, after regarding the fight for
a moment, he could distinguish the warriors of both tribes from one
another. The Panes, in full war-costume, were easily recognised by
their tufted scalp-l