"It is strange enough--Oh! my poor Rosita!--poor lost sister!--where art thou at this moment?--where?--where?--Shall I ever see you again?--My God! my God!" And Carlos once more sunk back into his attitude of despair. Then suddenly springing to his feet, with clenched fist and flashing eyes, he cried out-- "Wide though the prairie plains, and faint the trail of these dastardly robbers, yet keen is the _eye_ of Carlos the cibolero! I shall find thee yet--I shall find thee, though it cost me the search of a life. Fear not, Rosita! fear not, sweet sister! I come to your rescue! If thou art wronged, woe, woe, to the tribe that has done it!" Then turning to Don Juan, he continued,--"The night is on--we can do nothing to-night. Don Juan!--friend, brother!--bring me to her--to my mother." There is a wild poetry in the language of grief, and there was poetry in the words of the cibolero; but these bursts of poetic utterance were brief, and he again returned to the serious reality of his situation. Every circumstance that could aid him in his purposed pursuit was considered and arranged in a sober and practical manner. His arms and accoutrements, his horse, all were cared for, so as to be ready by the earliest hour of light. His servants, and those of Don Juan, were to accompany him, and for these horses were also prepared. Pack-mules, too, with provisions and other necessaries for a long journey--for Carlos had no intention of returning without the accomplishment of his sworn purpose--rescue or revenge. His was no pursuit to be baffled by slight obstacles. He was not going to bring back the report "_no los pudimos alcanzar_" He was resolved to trail the robbers to the farthest point of the prairies--to follow them to their fastens, wherever that might be. Don Juan was with him heart and soul, for the ranchero's interest in the result was equal to his own--his agony was the same. Their peons numbered a score--trusty Tagnos all, who loved their masters, and who, if not warriors by trade, were made so by sympathy and zeal. Should they overtake the robbers in time, there would be no fear of the result. From all circumstances known, the latter formed but a weak band. Had this not been the case, they would never have left the valley with so trifling a booty. Could they be overtaken before joining their tribe, all might yet be well. They would be compelled to give up both their plunder and their captive, and, perhaps, pay dearly for the distress they had occasioned. Time, therefore, was a most important consideration, and the pursuers had resolved to take the trail with the earliest light of the morning. Carlos slept not--and Don Juan only in short and feverish intervals. Both sat up in their dresses,--Carlos by the bedside of his mother, who, still suffering from the effects of the blow, appeared to rave in her sleep.