ince he had had a morsel to eat. He was too weak to go
in search of food, and his only help must come from making his presence
known to some of the Indians who were scattered in the forest. Pomponio
crawled to the opening, and out beyond the clump of bushes hiding it,
with the greatest caution. Slowly and painfully he reconnoitered in
every direction--no trace or sound of the soldiers. Picking out a
vantage point, from which he had a survey among the trees of several
hundred feet radius, he took up his watch, keeping a careful lookout
for the soldiers, as well as for any of his kindred who might chance
to wander thither. Here he passed the day, his little strength slowly
leaving him as the hours went by, until, near evening, he felt that
unless help came before the darkness fell, he could not survive the
night. Almost past caring whether the soldiers found him, he lay back
against a little heap of leaves he had scooped together, giving himself
up to the numb, delicious feeling of the last sleep--no more to be
feared and fought against--when his ear caught the sound of steps,
muffled by the leaves of the undergrowth carpeting the ground. He
started; life for an instant returned to him. Did that portend the
approach of the soldiers, or was it some friendly Indian roaming the
forest for game, and now on his return home? He gazed into the obscurity
of the approaching night, lying back too weak to move, though it were
his enemies come to take him again. But his fear was vain. It was an
Indian boy, not more than fifteen years old, on the way to his tribe. At
sight of him Pomponio was rejoiced, for the nearing Indian belonged to
his own tribe, and but for his extreme youth would have been included
among Pomponio's followers in the contemplated revolt.

His eyes lighted up with the fire of life. He raised himself on an
elbow, and when the Indian was within a few yards of him, and about to
turn aside to reenter the thicker woods beyond, Pomponio called to him.
His voice was hardly above a whisper, but it was sufficient. The Indian
heard, and, turned quickly. Seeing the form of a man, he started, and
was on the point of springing away into the forest, when Pomponio spoke,
this time in a louder and stronger tone:

"Help me Taxlipu, I--am nearly dead. I am Pomponio."

"Pomponio!" almost shrieked the boy. "It cannot be. I saw Pomponio
carried away and locked up at the presidio, and an Indian told me he had
been chained fast to the