in the first light of the dawn, on the heads of cloaked figures;
Winchesters on hip; bridle hands protruding lean and brown from under
the falling folds of the ponchos. The convoy skirting a little wood,
along the mine trail, between the mud huts and low walls of Rincon,
increased its pace on the camino real, mules urged to speed, escort
galloping, Don Carlos riding alone ahead of a dust storm affording a
vague vision of long ears of mules, of fluttering little green and white
flags stuck upon each cart; of raised arms in a mob of sombreros with
the white gleam of ranging eyes; and Don Pepe, hardly visible in the
rear of that rattling dust trail, with a stiff seat and impassive face,
rising and falling rhythmically on an ewe-necked silver-bitted black
brute with a hammer head.

The sleepy people in the little clusters of huts, in the small ranches
near the road, recognized by the headlong sound the charge of the San
Tome silver escort towards the crumbling wall of the city on the Campo
side. They came to the doors to see it dash by over ruts and stones,
with a clatter and clank and cracking of whips, with the reckless rush
and precise driving of a field battery hurrying into action, and the
solitary English figure of the Senor Administrador riding far ahead in
the lead.

In the fenced roadside paddocks loose horses galloped wildly for a
while; the heavy cattle stood up breast deep in the grass, lowing
mutteringly at the flying noise; a meek Indian villager would glance
back once and hasten to shove his loaded little donkey bodily against a
wall, out of the way of the San Tome silver escort going to the sea; a
small knot of chilly leperos under the Stone Horse of the Alameda would
mutter: "Caramba!" on seeing it take a wide curve at a gallop and dart
into the empty Street of the Constitution; for it was considered the