The last words were addressed to an Indian who was standing close behind him. Quickly succeeding the order, the notes of a bugle burst upon the air--strange sounds in an Indian camp! But the white man's music was not the only sign of civilised life to be observed among the tents of the Utahs. The guns and pistols--the spurs, lances, and saddles--the shakos and helmets--all spoke of the spoiled _presidios_ on the Mexican frontier; while fair-skinned _doncellas_ of Spanish race were seen mingling with the copper-coloured squaws--aiding them in their domestic duties--captives to all appearance contented with their captivity! None of this was new to me. I had witnessed similar scenes in the land of the Comanche. They are of daily occurrence along the whole frontier of Spanish America: where the red man constantly encroaches--reclaiming the country of his ancestors, wrested from him three centuries ago by the cupidity of the _Conquistadores_. Upon the side of the Indian now lies the strength--if not in numbers--at least in courage and war-prowess. The horse he once dreaded has become his dearest friend; and he can manage him with a skill scarcely equalled by his pale-faced adversary. The lance and fire-weapon are in his hands; the spirit-thunder no longer appals him: he knows its origin and nature, and uses it in the accomplishment of a terrible retaliation! On the northern continent, Utah and Yaqui, Kiowa and Comanche, Apache and Navajo, have all proved their superiority over the degenerated descendants of Cortez: as in the south have Cuncho and Cashibo, Goajira and Auracanian, over those of the ruthless Pizarro. The red man no longer goes to war as a mere savage. He has disciplined his strength into a perfect strategy; and possesses a military system as complete as that of most civilised nations. The Comanche cavalry charges in line, and can perform evolutions to the call of the bugle! So can the Utah, as I had evidence at that moment. Before the trumpet-notes had ceased to reverberate from the rocks, five hundred warriors had secured their horses, and stood beside them armed and ready to mount. A regiment of regular dragoons could not have responded to "Boots and saddles" with greater expedition! Peg-leg took possession of me. "Senor Pintado!" said he, speaking in Spanish, and after having examined my wounds, "the best medicine for you will be your breakfast; and while your _conpaisana_ is preparing it, you can come with me, and have a little water thrown over you. This painting does not improve your looks; besides, if it get into your wounds, they will be all the more difficult to make a cure of. _Nos vamos_!"