I was, however, approaching the object I had determined on, and I found myself within a few leagues of Hermosillo, that city which, surrounded by walls, possessing a population of fifteen thousand souls, and defended by eleven hundred regular troops commanded by General Bravo, one of the best and most courageous officers of Mexico, had been audaciously attacked by the Count de Raousset, at the head of less than two hundred and fifty Frenchmen, and carried, at the point of the bayonet, in two hours. The sun had set, and the darkness became greater every second. My poor horse, fatigued with a journey of more than fifteen leagues, and which I had overridden some days before in my endeavours to arrive at Guaymas sooner, advanced with great difficulty, stumbling at every step over the sharp stones of the route. I was myself excessively fatigued and was dying with hunger, so that I contemplated with very pitiable feelings the prospect of passing still another night under the starry canopy of heaven. I dread losing my way in the darkness; my eyes in vain scanned the horizon for a light that might guide me towards a habitation. I knew that several haciendas (farms) were to be met within the neighbourhood of the city of Hermosillo. Like all men who have for a long time led a wandering life, during which they have been incessantly the sport of events more or less contrary, I am endowed with a good stock of philosophy, an indispensable thing when one is travelling, particularly in America, where, for the most part, one is left to one's own industry without having the resource of being able to reckon upon any foreign aid. I made up my mind, like a brave traveller, renouncing with a sigh of regret the hope of supper and shelter. As the night grew darker and darker, and as it was useless to ride where I could not see, perhaps in a direction diametrically opposite to the one I ought to follow, I looked about me for a suitable place to establish my bivouac, light a fire, and find a little grass for my nag, which, as well as myself, was dying with hunger. This was not an easy matter in these countries calcined by a devouring sun, and covered with a sand as fine as dust. I, however, after a long search, discovered a miserable tree, in the shade of which a very scanty vegetation had sprung up. I was about to dismount, when my ear was struck with the distant sound of the steps of a horse, which appeared to be following the same route as myself, and which advanced rapidly. I remained motionless. Meeting with a horseman at night in the Mexican plains always suggests ample matter for reflection. The stranger we meet with may be an honest man, but it would be a safer wager to lay that he is a rogue. In this state of doubt, I cocked my revolver, and waited. My waiting was not long. At the end of five minutes the horseman came up to me. "_Buenas noches, caballero_," (Good evening, sir,) said he, as he passed.