"My young friend, this is the place I told you of. We must part here. You and your pony will go on with Colonel Tassara, and I will take my chances for reaching my place of refuge in Oaxaca. It is not a very good chance, but I must make the best of it that I can. Take good care of yourself. I have already said good-by to the senora and the senorita. I think they will soon be out of danger." Ned was really grateful, and he tried to say so, but all he could think of just then was: "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: