A Lagger Lagged.

The surprise of the two men is but momentary; for there can be no mystery about the peon’s disappearance. He has simply gone down the ravine, and back into the valley. Is he on return to the house, which they know is now untenanted, and, if so, with what intent? Has he become so attached to the place as to intend prolonging his sojourn there? or has something arisen to make him discontented with the company he has been keeping, and so determined to get quit of it by hanging behind?

Something of this sort was on their minds as they last saw him over the crest of the ridge. While in conflict with his mule, he was ever and anon turning his eyes towards the point where the soldiers must have been last seen by him; for from the gap in which he was these were no longer visible. Both Hamersley and Wilder had noticed an uneasy air about him at the time, attributing it to his vexation at being delayed by the obstinacy of the animal and the fear of being left behind. Now that he had mounted and taken the back-track, the cause must be different.

“Thar’s somethin’ queery in what the coyoats doin’,” is Walt’s half-soliloquised observation; adding, “Though what he’s arter tain’t so eezy to tell. He must be tired o’ their kumpany, and want to get shet o’ it. He’ll be supposin’ they ain’t likely to kum back arter him; an’ I reck’n they won’t, seein’ they’ve got all out o’ him they need care for. Still, what ked he do stayin’ hyar by himself?”

Walt is still ignorant of the peon’s partiality for his own sweetheart. He has had a suspicion of something, but not the deep, dire passion that burns in the Indian’s heart. Aware of this, he would not dwell on the probability of the man having any intention, any more than himself, remain behind now that Conchita is gone.

“Arter all,” he continues, still speaking in half soliloquy, “I don’t think stayin’s his game. There’s somethin’ else at the bottom on’t.”

“Can Uraga have sent him back on any errand?”

“No, that ain’t it eyther. More like he’s good on a errand o’ his own. I reckon I ken guess it now. The traitur intends turnin’ thief as well—doin’ a leetle bit o’ stealin’ along wi’ his treason. Ye remember, Frank, thar war a goodish grit o’ valleyables in the shanty—the saynorita’s jeweltry an’ the like. Jest possyble, in the skrimmage, whiles they war making capter o’ thar prisoners, this ugly varmint tuk devantage o’ the confusion to secret a whun o’ thar gimcracks, an’s now goed back arter ’em.”

“It seems probable enough. Still, he might have some other errand, and may not go on as far as the house. In which case, we may look for his return this way at any moment. It will never do for us to start upon their trail, leaving him coming in our rear. He would see us, and in the night might slip past and give them warning they were followed.”

“All that air true. We must grup him now.”

“Should we go down after him, or stay here till he comes up?”

“Neythur o’ the two ways’ll do. He moutn’t kum along no time. If he’s got plunder he won’t try to overtake the sogers, but wait till they’re well out o’ his way. He knows the road to the Del Norte, and kin travel it by hisself.”

“Then we should go down after him.”

“Only one o’ us. If we both purceed to the shanty there’s be a chance o’ passin’ him on the way. He mout be in the timmer, an’, seein’ us, put back out hyar, an’ so head us. There’d no need o’ both for the capterin’ sech a critter as that. I’ll fetch him on his marrowbones by jest raisin’ this rifle. Tharfor, s’pose you stay hyar an’ guard this gap, while I go arter an’ grup him. I’m a’most sartin he’ll be at the shanty. Anyhow, he’s in the trap, and can’t get out till he’s hed my claws roun’ the scruff o’ his neck an’ my thumb on his thropple.”

“Don’t kill him if you can help it. True he deserves to die; but we may want a word with him first. He may give information that will afterwards prove useful to us.”

“Don’t be afeared, Frank. I shan’t hurt a har o’ his head, unless he reesists, then I must kripple him a bit. But he ain’t like to show............