A strange set of human beings they were, of many tongues and costumes, but with the buckskin leggings, flannel shirt, and slouch hat predominating. They were men outlawed from the homes of civilization; men upon whose brows rested the curse of Cain, and who were branded, far and wide, as a brotherhood of bandits. Many of them were dashing, daring, and gallant fighters, but turned the gifts God had given them to prey upon the lives and fortunes of their fellow men. Amid that motley group might be seen the deserter from the army of the United States, the lively Frenchman, the florid Englishman, the beer-loving German, the swarthy Spaniard, the half-breed, the full-blooded Indian, and the American. Truly they were a bold and reckless set, held in check by one man, who, half reclining before a bright fire, watched the movements of his negro cook, and ever and anon addressed some words to the three or four of his comrades around him. Once that elegant but powerful form had been clad in the uniform of an honored cavalry officer of his country’s service, and the dark and lustrous eyes had, amid the brilliant saloons of the distant cities, Looked love to eyes That spoke again. But that was long ago, and time had brought many changes, and branded his once proud name with infamy. Fully six feet in height, and of supple, graceful form, the chief of the Branded Brotherhood wore buckskin, with trousers elaborately worked with beads, and fringed down the outer seams. Instead of moccasins, his feet were incased in high-top cavalry boots, armed with huge spurs; and a blue silk shirt and Mexican jacket, profusely adorned with silver buttons, completed his costume, excepting a gray slouch hat, with exceedingly broad brim, which was turned up on one side. The hands and face of the outlaw were burned as brown as the sun and exposure could make them; a heavy brown beard, of a like shade, with his long, curling hair, completely hid the lower features of his face; but his nose was straight and firm, his forehead broad and intellectual, his eyes strangely fiery and savage, while within their inmost depths was an expression hard to fathom, for at times it looked like fear, again was expressive of sadness, and at others of hatred and mischief. His men knew him only as “the chief.” Along the frontier he was called “Captain Ricardo, the Bandit,” but what his real name was none knew. Nor did any one know whence he came, only it was surmised that he had once been a distinguished cavalry officer, who, having been dismissed from the service for a crime committed, had taken to the plains as a highway robber, until, in a few years he had organized the band of which he was chief, and which had spread terror far and wide along the border.