"Their wounded!" continued the trapper. "They've had them under the bushes to keep the sun off them, I suppose. _Mira_! they are meeting them with horses! They mean flight then." A party with led-horses were seen galloping out from the base of the butte, evidently to take up the men on foot--who were still hurrying towards their mounted comrades, as fast as the nature of their duty would permit them. There were several groups of the Indians on foot-- each no doubt in charge of a disabled comrade. One crowd appeared to encircle a man who was not borne upon their shoulders, but was moving forward on his own feet. The violent gesticulations of those who surrounded him drew our attention. The man was evidently being menaced and urged forward--as if he went against his will! "_Carrai_!" exclaimed the Mexican, "_he_ is not one of their wounded. A captive! One of your _camarados_, I dare say?" "No doubt of it," I replied, at that moment equally guided to the conjecture. "Wagh!" exclaimed the trapper, "the poor fellow's scalp is in danger just now. I wonder they take all that trouble to get him away alive!-- that puzzles me, _amigo_! I think it high time they looked to their own lives, without being so particular about that of their prisoner. _Santissima Virgen_! As I live, there's a woman among them!" "Yes--I see her--I know her. Her presence explains why they are taking him alive." "You know her?" "And him too. Poor fellow! I hope she will befriend him; but--"