But the caravan had passed through Socorro only three days before, and I was in hopes of overtaking my old companions before they could leave El Paso. This determined me to proceed in the morning, and I made arrangements for an early start. Gode and I were awake before dawn. My attendant went out to summon the guide and saddle our animals. I remained in the house, making preparations for a cup of coffee before starting. I was assisted by the landlord of the posada, who had risen, and was stalking about in his serape. While thus engaged I was startled by the voice of Gode calling from without, "Von maitre! von maitre! the rascal have him run vay!" "What do you mean? Who has run away?" "Oh, monsieur! la Mexicaine, with von mule, has robb, and run vay. Allons, monsieur, allons!" I followed the Canadian to the stable with a feeling of anxiety. My horse--but no--thank Heaven, he was there! One of the mules, the macho, was gone. It was the one which the guide had ridden from Parida. "Perhaps he is not off yet," I suggested. "He may still be in the town." We sent and went in all directions to find him, but to no purpose. We were relieved at length from all doubts by the arrival of some early market men, who had met such a man as our guide far up the river, and riding a mule at full gallop. What should we do? Follow him to Parida? No; that would be a journey for nothing. I knew that he would not be fool enough to go that way. Even if he did, it would have been a fool's errand to seek for justice there, so I determined on leaving it over until the return of the traders would enable me to find the thief, and demand his punishment from the authorities. My regrets at the loss of my macho were not unmixed with a sort of gratitude to the fellow when I laid my hand upon the nose of my whimpering charger. What hindered him from taking the horse instead of the mule? It is a question I have never been able to answer to this day. I can only account for the fellow's preference for the mule on the score of downright honesty, or the most perverse stupidity. I made overtures for another guide. I applied to the Boniface of Socorro, but without success. He knew no mozo who would undertake the journey. "Los Apaches! los Apaches!" I appealed to the peons and loiterers of the plaza. "Los Apaches!" Wherever I went, I was answered with "Los Apaches," and a shake of the forefinger in front of the nose--a negative sign over all Mexico. "It is plain, Gode, we can get no guide. We must try this Jornada without one. What say you, voyageur?" "I am agree, mon maitre; allons!" And, followed by my faithful compagnon, with our remaining pack-mule, I took the road that leads to the desert. That night we slept among the ruins of Valverde; and the next morning, after an early start, embarked upon the "Journey of Death." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE "JOURNEY OF DEATH."