Their road, as before, led tortuously through canons and rugged ravines--no road at all, but a mere bridle path, faintly indicated by the previous passage of an occasional wayfarer or the tracks of straying cattle.
The sun was just sinking over the far western Cordilleras when the precipitous wall of the Sierra Blanca, opening wider on each side of the defile, disclosed to the spoil-laden party a view of the broad level plain known as the valley of the Del Norte.
Soon after, they had descended to it; and in the midst of night, with a starry sky overhead, were traversing the level road upon which the broad wheel-tracks of rude country carts--_carretas_--told of the proximity of settlements.

It was a country road, leading out from the foot-hills of the sierra to a crossing of the river, near the village of Tome, where it intersected with the main route of travel running from El Paso in the south through all the riverine towns of New Mexico.
Turning northward from Tome, the white robbers, late disguised as Indians, pursued their course towards the town of Albuquerque.

Any one meeting them on the road would have mistaken them for a party of traders _en route_ from the Rio Abajo to the capital of Santa Fe.
But they went not so far.

Albuquerque was the goal of their journey, though on arriving there--which they did a little after midnight--they made no stop in the town, nor any noise to disturb its inhabitants, at that hour asleep.
Passing silently through the unpaved streets, they kept on a little farther.

A large house or hacienda, tree shaded, and standing outside the suburbs, was the stopping place they were aiming at; and towards this they directed their course.