miles. We will camp here until
daylight. Pablo, put up the tents."

Every rider but Ned was down on his feet in a twinkling, but he remained
upon his pony's back as still as a statue. He saw a white tent leave the
top of the baggage in the wagon and set itself up, as if by magic.
Another and another followed, and he said to himself:

"They are little picnic tents. One is for the senora and Felicia; one
for the colonel; and one for Senor Zuroaga. Not any for me or for the
men. Oh, dear! How shall I ever get down? I can't move my legs. If I
can't, I shall have to go to sleep in the saddle!"

That was just what he might have done if it had not been for his kind
and thoughtful friend, the general,--if he was one,--for Zuroaga now
came to the side of the pony to inquire, with a merry laugh:

"How are you now, my boy? I knew how it would be. Tired out? Stiff with
so long a ride? Lean over this way and I'll help you down. Come!"

Ned leaned over and tried to pull his feet out of the stirrups. They did
come out somehow, and then he made an extra effort not to fall asleep
with his head on the general's shoulder.

"Used up completely!" exclaimed Zuroaga. "Can you walk? Stretch your
legs. Kick. It's your first long ride? You'll soon get used to it.
There! Now I'll put you into my tent, but we must be on the march again
by six o'clock in the morning. You can sleep till breakfast."

"I can walk, thank you," responded poor Ned, and he did so, after a lame
and awkward fashion, but he was glad to reach the tent. "It's big enough
for two," he said, as he crawled in.

"Is it?" said the general. "Bah! I do not use one half the time. I am a
soldier and a hunter, and I prefer to bivouac in such weather as this. I
must be on the lookout, too, to-night. Crawl in and go to sleep."

Ned was already in. Down he went upon a blanket, without even unbuckling
his machete, and that was the last that he knew that night of the camp
or of anybody in it. Probably, nothing less than the report of a cannon
fired over that tent would have aroused him to go for his horse-pistols
or draw his Mexican sabre.

Senora Tassara and her daughter had disappeared immediately, and they,
also, must have been wearied with their long, hot journey, but all the
rest of the party were old campaigners, and they were ready to take care
of the horses and eat cold rations, for no fires were kindled.

A few minutes later, if Ned had been awake instead of sleeping so