In half an hour after leaving it with my escort of Red Hats, I was back again--accompanied by a score of Rifle Rangers, who assisted me in making an exploration of that interesting locality. But the birds we went in search of had flown; and during the remainder of my stay in La Puebla de los Angeles, I never more set eyes upon my quaint challenger. I learnt something more of him from Francisco--some chapters of his history that did not fail to astonish me. He had been a captain in the Mexican army; and would be so again, should the tyrant Santa Anna get restored to his dictatorial power. Whenever the star of the latter was in the ascendant, the former was sure of a commission. But as the light of Santa Anna's star had been of late only intermittent, so also was the holding of his commission by Captain Torreano Carrasco. During the intervals which Francisco jocosely styled "his leaves of absence," the gallant captain was in the habit of spending a portion of his time among the mountains. "What does he do there?" I innocently inquired of my informant. "_Carrambo, senor_! It is strange you should ask that. I thought everybody knew," was the answer. "Knew what?" "That El Capitan Carrasco is _un pocito de salteador_." I was less astonished at the declaration, than the manner in which it was made. The young Mexican appeared to treat the thing as of no great consequence, but rather a matter of course. He seemed to look upon it in the light of a levity--scarcely a crime--one of the _Cosas de Mexico_! He was more serious when replying to my next question: "Has this Captain Carrasco any acquaintance with the daughters of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor?" "Why do you ask, caballero?" he said, turning pale at the mention of the name; "You know them?" "I have not the honour of knowing them, except by sight. I saw them this morning at matins. I saw Carrasco there too. He appeared to take an interest in their devotions." "If I thought so I'd--. Bah! it is not possible. He dare not--. Tell me, caballero; _what_ did you observe?" "Oh, nothing more than I've said. What do you know about it yourself?" "_En verdad_, nothing either! It was only a thought I had--from something I once saw. I may have been mistaken. 'Tis of no consequence." We spoke no more upon the subject. It was evidently painful to Francisco Moreno--as it was to myself. At a later period--when our acquaintance became better established-- further confidence was exchanged between us; and I was told the story of Francisco's courtship--to a portion of which, without his knowing it, I had listened before.