e
circumstances, as the warriors waited his reply.

He scarcely knew what reply to make. Hopeless outcast that he was, for
a moment the proposal seemed worthy of acceptance. At home he was
little better than a slave; here he would be ruler, the lord elect of
all.

The Wacoes, though savages by name, were warriors, were men of hearts,
human and humane. He had proofs of it before him. His mother and
sister would share his destiny; but Catalina,--ha! that one thought
resolved him; he reflected no further.

"Generous warriors!" he replied; "I feel from the bottom of my heart a
full sense of the honour you have offered to confer upon me. I wish
that by words I could prove how much I thank you, but I cannot. My
words, therefore, shall be few and frank. It is true that in my own
land I am not honoured,--I am one of the poorest of its people; but
there is _a tie_ that binds me to it--_a tie of the heart_ that calls
upon me to return. Wacoes, I have spoken!"

"Enough!" said the orator; "enough, brave stranger: it is not for us to
inquire into the motives that guide your acts. If not our chief, you
will remain our friend. We have yet a way--a poor one--left us to show
our gratitude: you have suffered from our enemies; you have lost your
property, but that has been recovered, and shall be yours again.
Further we entreat you to remain with us for some days, and partake of
our rude hospitality. _You_ will stay with us?"

The invitation was promptly echoed by all, and as promptly accepted.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

About a week after this time an atajo of pack-mules--nearly fifty in
number--loaded with buffalo-hides and tasajo, was seen struggling up the
eastern ceja of the Llano Estacado, and heading in a north-westerly
direction over that desert plain. The arriero, mounted upon the
_mulera_, was a half-blood Indian. Three carretas, drawn by oxen and
driven by dusky peons, followed the mule-train, making noise enough to
frighten even the coyotes that behind skulked through the coverts of
mezquite. A dashing horseman mounted upon a fine black steed rode in
advance, who, ever and anon turning in his saddle, looked back with a
satisfied glance upon the fine atajo. That horseman was _Carlos_.

The Wacoes had not forgotten to be generous. That train of mules and
those heavy packs were the gift of the tribe to the avenger of their
chief. But that was not all. In t