It was a horrid sight to look upon these fiend-like dwarfs squatted around the fires, holding up half-naked bones in their long, wrinkled arms, and tearing off the flesh with their glistening teeth. It was a horrid sight, indeed; and it was some moments before I could recover sufficiently from my amazement to inquire who or what they were. I did so at length. "Los Yamparicos," answered the cibolero. "Who?" I asked again. "Los Indios Yamparicos, senor." "The Diggers, the Diggers," said a hunter, thinking that would better explain the strange apparitions. "Yes, they are Digger Indians," added Seguin. "Come on; we have nothing to fear from them." "But we have somethin' to git from them," rejoined one of the hunters, with a significant look. "Digger plew good as any other; worth jest as much as 'Pash chief." "No one must fire," said Seguin, in a firm tone. "It is too soon yet; look yonder!" and he pointed over the plain, where two or three glancing objects, the helmets of the retreating warriors, could still be seen above the grass. "How are we goin' to get them, then, captain?" inquired the hunter. "They'll beat us to the rocks; they kin run like scared dogs." "Better let them go, poor devils!" said Seguin, seemingly unwilling that blood should be spilled so wantonly. "No, captain," rejoined the same speaker, "we won't fire, but we'll git them, if we kin, 'ithout it. Boys, follow me down this way." And the man was about guiding his horse in among the loose rocks, so as to pass unperceived between the dwarfs and the mountain. But the brutal fellow was frustrated in his design; for at that moment El Sol and his sister appeared in the opening, and their brilliant habiliments caught the eyes of the Diggers. Like startled deer they sprang to their feet, and ran, or rather flew, toward the foot of the mountain. The hunters galloped to intercept them, but they were too late. Before they could come up, the Diggers had dived into the crevices of the rocks, or were seen climbing like chamois along the cliffs, far out of reach. One of the hunters only--Sanchez--succeeded in making a capture. His victim had reached a high ledge, and was scrambling along it, when the lasso of the bull-fighter settled round his neck. The next moment he was plucked out into the air, and fell with a "cranch" upon the rocks! I rode forward to look at him. He was dead. He had been crushed by the fall; in fact, mangled to a shapeless mass, and exhibited a most loathsome and hideous sight. The unfeeling hunter recked not of this. With a coarse jest he stooped over the body; and severing the scalp, stuck it, reeking and bloody, behind the waist of his calzoneros! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. DACOMA. We all now hurried forward to the spring, and, dismounting, turned our horses' heads to the water, leaving them to drink at will. We had no fear of their running away.