The mansion which belongs to Maxwell would be an ornament to any country. At one time, it was used as a garrison for American troops, and on it, the soldiers made many improvements. It is built one story high, in the shape of a hollow square, and has the size of an ordinary block in a city. Around the whole runs a fine veranda. With its lofty ceilings, large and airy rooms, and its fine yard in the centre of the square, which is well stored with its fowls, pigeons, and other pet animals, with appropriate kennels; with antlers of noble buck and elk; hams of venison, buffalo meat, wild turkeys, etc., and near by a fine vegetable garden; altogether, it presents a picture of sumptuous living rarely seen within the pale of civilization. Maxwell counts his steeds and cattle by hundreds, while his flocks of sheep are enumerated by thousands. Near by stands Kit Carson's ranche, which, though more modest, yet, when the hunter occupies it, in dead game and comfort, it fully rivals its compeer. Around these two hunters live a handful of Mexican friends, who are either engaged in agricultural pursuits for themselves, or else in the employ of the "lords of the manor," Carson and Maxwell. In this his residence at Rayado, Kit Carson is only kept from spending his whole time by business for which his tastes are more suited. Soon after the commencement of the settlement, and while he was engaged in his vocation as farmer, news reached him that the Apaches had been committing a most wicked murder, the details of which are horrible in the extreme. A merchant by the name of White, who was engaged in business at Santa Fe, had been into the United States for the purpose of purchasing goods. With his train of wagons and his small escort of men, traveled his private carriage, in which there were, as passengers, his accomplished but unfortunate lady and her only child. On arriving at a point where he anticipated no further danger, Mr. White started on ahead of his caravan, in order that he might reach Santa Fe as soon as possible, and thus relieve his family from the privations of camp life. He had proceeded but a few miles when he was attacked by some Indians who had concealed themselves in the rocks on either side of the road. The savages, as the carriage neared their hiding-place, fired with such accuracy of aim that they killed, by their first volley, all of the men who were with the carriage before they were aware of the danger which surrounded them. Mrs. White and her child were reserved for a worse fate. They were carried off into captivity. The child proved to be a source of annoyance to the blood-thirsty savages, and its angel spirit was released from earth by their cruel ferocity. Before the eyes of its captive mother the fatal tomahawk was raised, and by one dastard blow its keen edge was made to mingle with its brains. The horrid work failed not to bring the bitter woes and anguish of despair to the breast of the unhappy mother. It