to Los Angeles, in California, with a party of Mexican friends, consisting of a man and his wife, another boy, and two mozos. They had turned out from the road, to camp where there wa«s some grass; and while preparing for the night, they had been jumped by the Apaches, and all shot down but himself. He had happened to be a few yards away from the camp when the attack was made; and, concealing himself, had escaped detection. The Apaches had only remained at the camp, after committing the massacre, but a few minutes, being evidently afraid of having drawn the attention of some stronger party by the firing; and, after scalping their victims, rode away in haste upon the captured animals. The poor boy had wandered away from the road, in his terror and despair, and for three days had been traveling around at random, endeavoring to regain the trail, or discover a station where he would find shelter and protection. Late that day he had found the trail, and followed it several miles; but, becoming faint and exhausted from long exposure and the want of food, he had turned out to lie down for a rest under a tree; and, having fallen asleep, had missed us entirely as we passed only a few hundred yards from him. He had found water once, and had eaten a few mesquite bean-pods, which had fallen in his way, thus sustaining life. His clothing was torn to shreds by the thorny shrubs through which he had passed; his feet were swollen from long walking on the hot, dry earth, and filled with cactus-spines; and, between weariness, hunger, and thirst, he was so nearly dead that it is doubtful if he would have had strength
