The deep silence that always reigns in those mountains was unbro-
ken, and neither mules nor men were visible. Observing something
very white near the wagon, we at first took it for the reflected
light of a camp-fire, and concluded that the Mexicans were en-
camped behind some rocks, and that with them we would find our
friend. Bat it was soon evident that what we saw was a heap of
flour reflecting the moonlight. Anxiously watching this and the
wagon, we had approached within about twenty yards of the lat-
ter when we both started back — we had nearly trodden on a man
lying in the road. My first thought was that it was a strange
place to sleep in, but he was naked and lying on his face, with his
head down-hilL The fii'st idea had harely time to flash through
my mind, when another followed— it was not sleep but death.
As vre atooped down and looked closer, the truth we had both
instinctively felt was evident — the murdered man was Grosvenor.
It would be Impossible to describe the intensity of emotion
crowded into the minute that followed this discovery. For the
first time I stood an actor in a scene of death ; the victim a dear
friend; the murderei-s and the deed itself buried in mystciy.
