“Boys, the mustangs will be up from the range this morning. Which of you want to go down to the corral with me?”

“I do! I do!” exclaimed both in the same breath.

“I spoke first,” cried Hal.

“No, you didn’t; I spoke first myself,” retorted Ned.

“I say you didn’t,” rejoined Hal.

Seeing that the dispute was likely to become a serious one, I interrupted it by saying,

“Well, boys, I’ll settle the matter at once by taking you both with me. In this way there’ll be no chance for a quarrel.”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” exclaimed Ned. “We can both go; ain’t that nice?”

“But I spoke first, though,” declared Hal. “Never mind which spoke first. If either of you want to go with me, you must come now.”

We immediately started towards the corral; but, before reaching it, I saw the herd coming over the plain towards us, their heads high in air, as though sniffing the morning breeze, their necks proudly arched, and long manes and tails gracefully flowing to the wind, as they pranced and gambolled along the high swell of land that marked the gentle descent to the valley where we stood.

As soon as the boys discovered them, they went into raptures, exclaiming,

“Oh, what a big drove of horses! Whose are they? Are they all yours? Can’t I have one to ride? What are you going to do with them?” and a hundred other questions, asked more rapidly than I could possibly find opportunity to answer.

As the mustangs came nearer, and the boys began to distinguish more clearly their elegant forms and beautiful color, they became greatly excited, declaring loudly, that, if they could only have one of them to ride, they should be perfectly happy.

I found great difficulty in so far repressing them, that they would not frighten the herd which was now close to the enclosure; but finally succeeded in keeping them quiet, by promising that each should have one for his own.

When the last of the gang had passed into the corral and the gate was shut, the boys mounted the wall, eager to select their ponies. This was soon done: Hal choosing a beautiful black, and Ned deciding upon a spirited blood-bay mare.

Calling Manuel, the Mexican herder, I gave the requisite order, and he entered the corral, lasso in hand. He stood for a moment, waiting his opportunity, and then, swinging the rope gracefully over his head, the noose dropped upon the neck of the black.

The instant she felt it touch, she lowered her head, in an endeavor to throw it off; but Manuel anticipated the movement, and gently tightened it; when, with a snort of defiance, she settled back on her haunches, as though inviting him to a trial of strength.

After many and repeated failures, by the exercise of great patience and skill, Manuel succeeded in separating her from the remainder of the herd, and leading her into another and smaller enclosure.

And then commenced the contest with the bay. The herd had by this time become very sensitive, and it was with great difficulty that Manuel managed to cast his noose over the mare’s head; and, even when this had been accomplished, she seemed disposed to make him all the trouble possible; but, after a long time, he obtained the mastery, and led her out to share the fate of her black companion.

“Now, boys, you’ve got the ponies, what are you going to do with them?” asked I.

“Do with ’em? Why, ride ’em, of course,” answered Hal.

“I’d like to see some one ride mine, before I back her,” remarked Ned.

“And so you shall,” said I. “Come, Manuel, let’s see you ride the bay.”

First obtaining one end of the lasso, which still encircled her neck, he made a turn around a stout post, which enabled him to bring her head so perfectly under his control, that, with comparative ease, he made a loop with his lasso around her lower jaw; then, leading her into the open plain, he vaulted lightly upon her back.

The moment she felt his weight she uttered a scream of rage, and raised herself upright upon her hind legs, standing so admirably poised that Manuel was only able to retain his seat by clinging with both arms around her neck. Unable to rid herself of her burden in this manner, she planted her fore feet firmly on the earth, and elevated her hind legs high in the air with great rapidity and fury, forcing the rider to turn quickly upon her back and clasp his arms tightly around the barrel of her body, bracing his toes against the point of her fore shoulders, and thus rendering futile all her frantic efforts to unseat him.

Apparantly convinced that neither of these methods would relieve her, she stood still for a moment, as if to gather strength for a last, grand, final effort for her freedom; then, bounding like a deer, she dashed furiously over the plain.

Away she sped, Manuel still upon her back, now disappearing for a moment in some ravine, to again come in sight, galloping madly over the swell of the plain, swerving neither to the right nor the left, but once more disappearing, to finally become lost in the distance.

“I’m glad I ain’t on her,” said Ned. “Will she ever come back? If she does, I don’t want to ride her. Didn’t she just fly, though? Do you believe I shall ever be able to manage her?”

“I think perhaps after Manuel gets through with her, you’ll find it easier than you imagine,” was my answer.

“I’d like to ride as well as Manuel,” remarked Hal. “I wonder if all Mexicans ride as nicely as he does.”

“Many do; and there are thousands of Americans in Texas who ride equally well, if they do not surpass him in horsemanship.”

“Then I mean to learn how to do it,” rejoined Hal; “and I won’t be satisfied until I do.”

“You may as well commence now, on your black, Hal. She’s waiting and ready for you,” remarked Ned.

“Thank you! but I believe I’ll wait and see how the bay comes out. Come, let’s go and see the beauty,” said Hal; and the two started for the corral, to discuss the probable relative speed of the captives.

A couple of hours later, we saw Manuel returning; the mare trotting as quietly as though she had been accustomed to the saddle for years. Riding up to where we stood, he dismounted; and, handing Ned the end of the lasso, said,

“There, youngster, throw this over her head, and lead her to the corral. She’ll fancy you’re the one who first gained the mastery over her, and you won’t have no trouble in riding her when you want to.”

Ned led her to the corral, and then Hal’s mare was obliged to submit to a similar experience; and, after that, the boys, with Manuel to instruct, mounted their ponies and took their first lesson in mustang riding.

Hal Hyde and Ned Brown were two boys who had arrived from the East the night previous to the morning on which our story opens.

They were the sons of two old friends of mine, and had been sent to Texas that they might learn something of life upon a stock-ranche.

It is not my intention, however, to relate their experience during the few months they remained on the Ranchee; for they found, after the first novelty had worn off, the life was dull and exceedingly tiresome. So monotonous did it become in fact, that it was with difficulty I persuaded them to remain, even until the fall, when I intended to make a journey overland to California.

As the time drew near for me to start, the boys became so anxious to accompany me, that I finally decided to travel with my own team, instead of taking the stage to San Diego, as I had originally intended. I purchased four stout wagons, and thirty mules with harness and outfit for the road, complete; and engaged the services of an old Texan named Jerry Vance, as wagon-master for the trip. We also bought a small but well-selected lot of goods, suitable for either the Mexican or Indian trade; laid in a large stock of stores for use on the road; and then awaited the departure of some “freighter” for the “Upper Country,” that we might take advantage of the better protection afforded by a large party in travelling through a country infested by hostile bands of Indians.

The boys became very impatient to be off; for we had gone into camp near the headwaters of the San Pedro, four miles above the city of San Antonio, and their only amusement consisted in practising with their rifles or revolvers or exercising their ponies.

At last (it was the first day of September) Jerry brought word to camp, that, on the following morning, Magoffin’s train, consisting of seventeen wagons, forty men, and two hundred mules, would start for Fort Fillmore, nearly a thousand miles away upon our direct route.

This was indeed agreeable news; and the boys could hardly contain themselves for joy at the thought of so soon being on the road.

Every one about camp went to work with a will; for there were many things yet to be done before we should be ready to leave.

Mules were to be shod, harness examined, wheels greased, nuts tightened, firearms put in order and freshly loaded, wagons repacked, and, in fact, a thousand things that are always postponed until the last minute before starting on a trip like ours.

Shortly after sundown, however, old Jerry announced everything ready, and then we gathered around our camp-fire, and the boys spent the evening in asking him questions about the route, which were easily answered; for he had passed over it seven times, and met with hundreds of adventures on the road, that afforded both instruction and amusement for his listeners.

It is the story of our trip across the plains, from San Antonio, Texas, to San Diego, California, as well as some of the adventures we encountered on the road, that I have to tell you.

Long before daylight the next morning I was awakened by the noise and confusion in camp, incident to a first start. Men were shouting at the mules; mules were braying; whips cracking; wheels creaking; and, far above all, I could hear the loud voices of Hal and Ned, now giving orders and endeavoring to instruct old Jerry how to catch an unruly mule that seemed disposed to make some trouble, and again cautioning every one to make no noise, for fear of disturbing me before my breakfast should be ready.

Springing to my feet, I found that the teams were already harnessed, and only waiting the appearance of our travelling companions to start.

Breakfast was soon dispatched, the camp equipage, blankets, etc., stowed in one of the wagons; and very shortly the still morning air bore to our ears the distant rumble of heavy wagons, the shouts of the teamsters, and the many sounds indicating the approach of a large train. Presently the herd of spare mules was seen, and then the covers of the wagons. We mounted our ponies, old Jerry called out in a cherry tone, “Vamose!” the teamsters cracked their whips, the mules pulled with a will, and we fell in behind the wagons, and were at last fairly on the road, bound for the “Golden State.”

As the first rays of the rising sun flashed athwart the beautiful green prairie, the boys gave a yell of delight at the sight, which was indeed a glorious one; the long line of wagons, each drawn by eight mules, stretching far ahead and following the tortuous windings of the road, their white covers, blue bodies, and bright red wheels presenting a contrast to the sober green of the surrounding country that was at once pleasing and unique.

As we realized the truly formidable appearance of the caravan, Hal, with his usual impetuosity, declared that there wern’t Indians enough in the country to whip us; for confirmation of his opinion, appealing to old Jerry, who, however, only shrugged his shoulders after the peculiar manner of frontiersmen, and said, “Quien sabe?” or, who knows?

For five long days we followed the road, without meeting with any incident worthy of note. The settlements had all been passed, Fort Clark left far behind, and not an Indian been seen by any of our party.

On the evening of the eighth day, we encamped upon the banks of the Nucces. It was a beautiful night. The young moon was fast sinking behind the line of the distant mountains, leaving us to enjoy the light of our camp-fire, and admire its ruddy glow, reflected on the snow-white covers of our wagons. These were parked in a semi-circle around us, and forcibly recalled to my mind the stories I had read in my boyhood, of gipsy encampments upon some grand old English barren.

“Now I call this comfort,” said Hal, as he lazily stretched himself upon a blanket before the fire. “Eight days on the road, and we haven’t seen an Indian. I don’t believe there are any. Now what’s the use of standing guard and shivering round the camp half the night, watching for Indians that never come?”

“I come on first to-night, and shall stand my watch, at any rate,” said Ned. “And before it gets any darker, we’d better drive the mules down to water.”

“Do you think,” asked Hal, appealing to me, “that there’s any need of standing guard to-night?”

“Certainly I do,” replied I. “It’s always best to be on the safe side. Why not exercise the same precaution to-night that we have since we left San Antonio? It is impossible to tell how near Indians may be, or when they will attack us. Travellers on the plains should be prepared for any emergency.”

“True as preachin’,” interrupted old Jerry. “They ain’t so very fur off, either. I’ve seen ’em signalin’ all the afternoon, and signalin’ allers means bizness with them red varmints. If we don’t see ’em to-night, we shall afore a great while, and I think ”

“Never mind what you think,” interrupted Hal, saucily. “You are always imagining things that never come to pass. I guess you’ve been pretty badly scared some time by Indians.”

“Wal, young man, when you’ve travelled over these plains as many years as I hev, maybe you’ll know more about Injuns than you do now, and maybe you won’t,” rejoined Jerry, in a tone of contempt, as he slowly moved away in the direction of the herd.

Asking Jerry to make sure that the animals were properly secured, I threw myself down on Hal’s blanket, and gazed into the fire.

Jerry and the boys soon returned, saying that the animals were perfectly safe; but somehow I found it impossible to rid myself of the impression made by Jerry’s casual remark. Calling him to me, I asked him more particularly about the signals he had seen. His answer did not relieve my uneasiness, for he said,

“Them varmints don’t make smoke for nothing; and, when you see ’em in so many directions, it’s a sure sign that they’re gatherin’ for mischief: at least, that’s my ’sperience.”

As it was still early in the evening, I determined to walk over to Magoffin’s camp, which was about a quarter of a mile above us, and ascertain if his men had seen anything to cause them to apprehend danger. I found that Don Ignacio, the wagon-master, fully corroborated Jerry’s statements about the smoke signals, adding that he intended to have a very strict watch kept that night.

With, tins information I returned to camp; and, after telling the boys what I had heard and cautioning them to keep a sharp lookout during their watch, I “turned in,” resolved to nap “with one eye open” myself.

I lay for a long time trying in vain to compose myself to sleep; but, finding it impossible to do so, concluded to rise and endeavor to walk my nervousness away.

Without thinking of my firearms, I sallied forth, and must have travelled nearly a mile, when I came suddenly upon a mule, standing alone, a short distance from the roadside.

Supposing it to be one of our own, which, through carelessness, had been permitted to stray from the herd, I attempted to secure it, with the intention of leading it back; but, to my surprise, it started and dashed furiously away across the prairie, in an opposite direction from camp.

I well knew that a mule, when alone on the plains, is one of the most docile creatures in the world, and will permit any one save an Indian to approach it without making an effort to escape; consequently, the more I thought of the matter the more singular it seemed. Returning to camp, I found old Jerry awake and on the alert, and briefly told him what I had seen, asking him if he did not think it a strange thing for the animal to do.

Without a moment’s hesitation he replied,

“Strange? no! That air lost critter of yourn was a Comanche scout’s, you bet; and, bein’ a scout, he couldn’t have done nothin’ else, ’cause it might hev spilt their entire calculation. You’ll hev a chance ter see him agin afore mornin’, I reckon.”

“But there was no Indian with the mule,” I insisted.

“Ten to one there was, though,” replied Jerry. “You ain’t so well ‘quainted with them Comanches as I be. They’re cunnin’ fellers! They never show themselves when they’re on a horse, or in a fight. They just stick closer’n a tick to their hoss’s side, and do a heap of mighty good shootin’ from under his neck, I can tell you. Why, I’ve seen forty of ’em comin’ full tilt right towards me, and narry Injun in sight.”

“If you think they are going to attack us, Jerry, hadn’t we better rouse the camp at once, and notify Magoffin’s people?”

“We’d better just tend to ourselves, and let other folks do the same; and as to rousin’ the camp, why them boys is a heap better off asleep than they would be round here. That’s a nice sort of a guard, ain’t it?” said Jerry, pointing to Hal, who was slumbering soundly near the fire. “That’s just what he was doin’ when I got up; and on his watch too. We can git along without any such help as thet. Air your shootin’-irons reddy?”

Before I had time to reply to his question, the sharp, shrill war-whoop of the Comanches fell upon our ears, ringing out on the still night air with a yell fiendish enough to paralyze the stoutest heart. For a single instant it lasted, and then the most unearthly din that can possibly be imagined filled the air; while the neighing of horses, the braying of mules, beating of drums, and discordant jangle of bells, accompanied by an occasional discharge of firearms, rendered the scene as near pandemonium as it is possible to conceive.

We saw a dozen or more dusky forms coming towards us, and Jerry and myself raised our rifles and fired.

Hal, Ned, and the teamsters were by this time awake; the latter being obliged to give their whole attention to the animals, which were making frantic exertions to escape.

The boys rushed in the most frightened manner from one place to another, not knowing what to do or where to go, only adding to the terrible confusion; until, by Jerry’s direction, they ensconced themselves under one of the wagons, with orders not to leave it without express permission.