"It's nothing to do with me," remarked Castro, as he and I rode out at the head of the men; "but the captain's overdoing it. He's taking the heart out of his fellows, and just at the last pinch they'll fall to pieces. There's nothing left in them for a dash at the end." "We shouldn't shine in a cavalry charge," I admitted, laughing and looking at my horse, "unless, indeed, it were under Don Quixote's banner!" "Well, Crawford," cried the captain, riding up, "something ought to happen soon now. It's a pity we wasted that last hour this morning, though. We must make up for it during the day. One of the prisoners informed me that Santalla cannot be far ahead. I have a good mind to push on with the men on the strongest horses, leaving you to follow. What do you think?" "I think that you are going fast enough, captain. Both men and horses are fagged now, and it's useless to catch up with Santalla just as we are all dead beat." "But if we don't go ahead we shan't catch him at all. The colonel did not send us on in front to sit down by the wayside." "No, captain; but that's just what we shall be doing soon, whether we want to or not. Most of the horses are nearly done for now." "Then we'll get fresh ones," cried he (which, by the way, there was no possible means of doing), "or continue the pursuit on foot. Do you think if the colonel were in my place he would lag behind?" Of course I knew he would not, but then Miller was Miller, who had not, to my thinking, his equal in South America. And Plaza wished to imitate his chief, forgetting he did not possess that marvellous personal influence over men which accounted so much for the English colonel's success. So we pushed on, till, at the end of the third mile or thereabout, a horse sank through sheer weariness to the ground, and had not sufficient strength to rise again. "Run on with the rest," said the captain to the rider; "we will ride and tie by turns." The man saluted and came on, but the last I saw of him he was staggering from side to side of the track, as if he had completely lost control of his limbs. After a time another horse fell, giving us another infantry-man, who in a short time was, I daresay, also left behind on the road. "'Twill be a plain trail for the main body," remarked the guide; for we ourselves were continually passing broken weapons, mules that could not drag their limbs a step further, dead horses, and now and then a Royalist soldier curled up on the track fast asleep. "Where will Santalla make for?" I asked. "Arequipa. But I don't think he can reach it. The Indians bar the direct route, and his only way out, as far as I can see, is by taking to the mountains at Copari." "My horse won't face a hill just now." Castro smiled, saying, "The pass near Copari is too rugged for horses at any time; the climbing must all be done on foot," and he smiled again at my gesture of despair.