“Not a person has passed over this road on horseback in the last twenty-four hours.”
They looked at one another in alarm. Had a mistake been made and all this time wasted? Who had given the wrong direction, the policeman or the soldier?
But suddenly the general exclaimed: “There may be a clever rogue in that party. To horse, señor! I have a plan,” and riding forward, he led them along the road that branched to the left.
“Where can he be going?” asked Mr. Dartmoor. “He must realize that every moment counts.”
“He believes they made a detour, and so do I,” replied Señor Cisneros.
The general rode at a rapid gait full a quarter of a mile, bending down close to the saddle, his head almost on a level with his horse’s neck, scanning the white roadway; then, drawing rein suddenly, he exclaimed in a triumphant tone:—
“Try it again, señor, at this point.”
Señor Cisneros was no sooner on his feet than he said: “Yes, here are the tracks! They came out of the short grass at this point.”
“And they entered it below Bella Vista, believing they could throw us off the trail!” added General Matajente. “Now I think we have them. The road is straight to the Rimac, then follows along its bank for ten miles, and after that comes a bridle-path up the hills. Forward! Not too fast, señores! Easy with the horses for a few minutes, then we’ll let them out!”
They rode close. No words were exchanged; the only sounds were the hoof-beats and the hoarse breathing of the horses. The speed was increased gradually, General Matajente setting the pace, and soon the gnarled cacti and dwarf shrubs of the pampas country seemed to pass them by as do objects seen from the window of a train. A half hour of this riding brought a mass of vegetation in sight ahead: rows of bamboos, palms, and willows. The soil became more fertile; thick, heavy grass, dotted here and there with yellow lilies, took the place of the dry vegetation.