It was in the early morning. The October sun had not yet appeared above the horizon, but all the eastern sky was refulgent with the coming glories of a lovely day. Frank and Jesse James had ridden far, but their horses were not jaded, and as for themselves, physical endurance is their normal characteristic. They were ready for any desperate adventure, such as they were then engaged in. Only for a moment did they pause when they emerged from the river. Their fire-arms were carefully examined, and then they urged their horses onward. El Paso was silent. The inhabitants had not yet awakened from their slumbers. Palacios and his band, with their stolen herds, had passed on through the village in the direction of the mountains. Their trail through the sand was still fresh. The James Boys rode on. Three miles away they came to the camp. Deeming themselves safe, the Mexican raiders had taken no precautions to guard against surprise. The herds had been corraled, and the bandits, wearied by their long marches, slumbered heavily. [Illustration: After the "Greasers."] Cautiously approaching the Mexican camp, the two brothers, with that quick perception for which they are distinguished, saw at a glance the situation of the camp and the position of the sleeping robbers. The dreamers were suddenly aroused by the reports of the avengers' pistols. Jesse and Frank James were in their midst, and dealing death to the miscreants ere they could grasp their weapons. Some who dreamed were sent to their account before the phantasy had cleared from their brains. With a death-dealing pistol in each hand, they fired with incredible rapidity, and at each discharge an unfortunate wretch fell to rise no more. Terror-stricken, the robbers fled in every direction. Some were arrested in their flight by the unerring aim of the outlawed brothers; and some more fortunate escaped to the mountains with life only, everything being left behind in order that they might save it. The corral was broken up. The Boys are skillful herdsmen, and soon the great tramping drove was turned toward the Rio Grande. Ten dead robbers, stark and still, among the cactus patches, testified to the prowess of the American desperadoes. They passed back through the village. Not a man was visible. They had heard of the fate of their robber friends. Terror-stricken, they had abandoned their homes and fled into the chaparral beyond the hills, which at this point approach the river. The Boys were hungry after their morning's engagement, and halting at the little adobe _posado_, they ordered breakfast, taking care that it was prepared under their personal supervision, in order that no treachery on the part of their unwilling entertainers should succeed.