It was about two p.m. on the day after the battle. Twenty men were encamped in a clearing some ten or twelve miles at the most from the Río Grande del Norte; with the exception of three or four of them, who were attired like Mexican campesinos, the rest appeared to be hunters or wood rangers. The majority were lying asleep on the grass at the foot of the trees, with their heads in the shade and their feet in the sun. Their horses, hobbled and ready to be mounted, were eating their ration of Indian corn spread on woollen blankets, laid on the ground in front of them. Several sentries, leaning on their rifles, watched over the common safety. A little apart was a group composed of four or five persons, seated on buffalo skins. These persons, whom our readers are well acquainted with, were the Count de Melgosa, Don Aníbal de Saldibar, Don Aurelio Gutiérrez, and Moonshine. Don Aníbal, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, seemed suffering from profound sorrow. The count was looking at him sadly. The Canadian was philosophically smoking his Indian pipe, while at times taking a commiserating look at the hacendero. As for Don Aurelio, he was yawning as if going to put his jaw out, with his back carelessly resting against a tree, his arms folded, and his legs stretched out. We will now explain to the reader why these persons were collected at this spot. To do so we will go back a little way, and return to the canyon in which the fate of Mexico was decided. The first moments following a victory are always devoted by the victors to joy and delirium, order and discipline no longer exist. Men congratulate each other and run backwards and forwards, singing, laughing, and forgetting all the perils and agony of the struggle. But when minds began to calm, and reason regains its sway, reflection comes, and the sanguinary details of the battle appear in all their horror. General Don Pelagio Sandoval after giving quarter to the conquered immediately disarmed them, and employed them in removing the wounded and burying the dead. Of all the Spanish soldiers who entered the defile, not a single man had succeeded in escaping to bear to Coahuila the news of this awful defeat. The Mexicans had comparatively lost very few men, although their loss for all that was considerable. The Mexican general resolved to encamp on the battlefield, and his troops were encamped on the plain in front of the mouth of the canyon. It was about nine in the evening. The bivouac fires formed a brilliant circle round the camp, the soldiers were singing and laughing while narrating to each other the exciting incidents of the battle. The general, who had retired to a jacal of branches built for him, which his troops had lined inside with the flags captured from the enemy, was conversing with Oliver Clary. The Canadian had just finished a story which must have powerfully affected his hearer, for his face was pale, and a burning tear trembled at the end of his lashes.