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But poor Paquita and her brave companion were not so fortunate. The river ran in an eddy, and their weak and bewildered horses were spun around like burrs in a whirlpool. The soldiers had discharged a volley as we disappeared, but I think none of us were touched from this first fire. My horse swam very slow, and dropped far down the current. The sol diers came up, stood on the bank, deliberately loaded, aimed their pieces, and fired every shot of the platoon at me, but only touched my horse. They had not yet discovered Paquita and her companion struggling in the eddy, almost under their feet, else neither of them had ever left it. Now, they got their horses turned and struck out, diving and holding on to the mane.

They were not forty feet from the soldiers when discovered. The guns were dropped, pistols were drawn, and a hundred shots, and still another hun dred, rained down upon and around those two brave children, but they gave no answer.

I was down the stream out of reach, and nearing the shore. I witnessed the dreadful struggle for life, looking back, clinging to my almost helpless horse s mane.

They would dive, then the black heads and shiny shoulders would reappear, a volley of shot, down again till almost stifled; up, again a volley, and shouts and laughter from the shore.

It seemed they would never get away from out the rain of lead. Slowly, oh ! how slowly, their