So saying, Saint Vrain left me; and the moment after I could see his light form passing hastily out of the gate. I lay reflecting on the strangeness of the incidents that seemed to be occurring around me. I was not without some painful reflections. I had wounded the feelings of one who had not injured me, and for whom my friend evidently entertained a high respect. A shod hoof sounded upon the stones outside; it was Gode with my horse; and the next moment I heard him hammering the picket-pin into the pavement. Shortly after, Saint Vrain himself returned. "Well," I inquired, "what happened you?" "Nothing much. That's a weasel that never sleeps. He had mounted his horse before they came up with him, and was very soon out of their reach." "But may they not follow him on horseback?" "That is not likely. He has comrades not far from here, I warrant you. Armijo--and it was he sent those villains on his track--has no force that dare follow him when he gets upon the wild hills. No fear for him once he has cleared the houses." "But, my dear Saint Vrain, tell me what you know of this singular man. I am wound up to a pitch of curiosity." "Not to-night, Harry; not to-night. I do not wish to cause you further excitement; besides, I have reason to leave you now. To-morrow, then. Good-night! Good-night!" And so saying, my mercurial friend left me to Gode and a night of restlessness. CHAPTER NINE. LEFT BEHIND. On the third day after the fandango, it is announced that the caravan will move onward to Chihuahua. The day arrives, and I am unable to travel with it. My surgeon, a wretched leech of a Mexican, assures me that it will be certain death to attempt the journey. For want of any opposing evidence, I am constrained to believe him. I have no alternative but to adopt the joyless resolve to remain in Santa Fe until the return of the traders. Chafing on a feverish bed, I take leave of my late companions. We part with many regrets; but, above all, I am pained at bidding adieu to Saint Vrain, whose light-hearted companionship has been my solace through three days of suffering. He has proved my friend; and has undertaken to take charge of my waggons, and dispose of my goods in the market of Chihuahua. "Do not fret, man," says he, taking leave. "Kill time with the champagne of El Paso. We will be back in a squirrel's jump; and, trust me, I will bring you a mule-load of Mexican shiners. God bless you! Good-bye!" I can sit up in my bed and, from the open window, see the white tilts of the waggons, as the train rolls over a neighbouring hill. I hear the cracking whips and the deep-toned "wo-ha" of the teamsters; I see the traders mount and gallop after; and I turn upon my couch with a feeling of loneliness and desertion. For days I lay tossing and fretting, despite the consolatory influence of the champagne, and the rude but kindly attentions of my voyageur valet.