"General Zuroaga, I do hope you'll get through all right. I hope I shall
see you again safe and sound."

"You never will," said Zuroaga, as he wheeled his horse, "unless I get
out of this Cordoba road. It is a kind of military highway, and I might
meet my enemies at any minute--too many of them."

"Good-by!" shouted Ned, and the general, who was still a great mystery
to him, dashed away at a gallop, followed by Pablo and the wild riders
from the Oaxaca ranches.

The cavalcade had hardly paused, and it now went on up the long, steep
slope to the right. Not many minutes later, it was on high enough ground
to look down upon the road which had been taken by Zuroaga. Ned was not
looking in that direction, but at some snow-capped mountains in the
distance, northward, and he was saying to himself:

"So that is the Sierra Madre, is it? This country has more and higher
mountains in it-- Hullo! What's that? Is she hurt?"

His change of utterance into an anxious exclamation was produced by a
piercing scream from the carriage, and that was followed by the excited
voice of Senora Tassara calling out:

"Husband! The general is attacked! Look! Hear the firing!"

"O father! Can we not help him?" gasped Senorita Felicia.

Her mother was holding to her eyes with trembling hands what Ned took
for an opera-glass, and he wished that he had one, although he could
make out that something like a skirmish was taking place on the other
road. It was too far to more than barely catch the dull reports of what
seemed to be a number of rapidly fired pistol-shots.

"They are fighting!" he exclaimed. "I wish I was there to help him! He
may need more men. I could shoot!"

Whether he could or not, he was almost unconsciously unbuckling the
holster of one of his horse-pistols, when the senora spoke again.

"Santa Maria!" she exclaimed. "The dear general! They are too many for
him. Madre de Dios! Our good friend will be killed!"

"Give me the glass, my dear," said her husband. "Your hands are not
steady enough. I will tell you how it is."

"Oh, do!" she whispered, hoarsely, as she handed it to him. "They are
lancers in uniform. Oh, me! This is dreadful! And they may follow us,
too."

Colonel Tassara took the glass with apparently perfect coolness, and
Ned took note that it did not tremble at all, as he aimed it at the
distant skirmish. It was a number of seconds, however, before he
reported:

"Hurrah! The general rides on, and he rides we