“We are coming out of the ravine. There is a plain ahead.”
Three minutes more of hard trotting brought them out into open country, dotted here and there with small groves of palms.
“Better halt,” advised Hal, reining up.
Ramirez did the same, without questioning.
“Rope the horses abreast,” directed Maynard. “You can ride on one side of the line, I on the other. In that way we can keep the brutes at a gallop, if needed.”
Dismounting, they quickly accomplished this task. Within two minutes they were once more in saddle.
“You must be our guide,” suggested Maynard, as he settled down in saddle. “Where shall we find the nearest Cuban camp?”
“I do not know,” replied the Cuban. “I know where Major Alvaredo was the day before yesterday, but—diablo!—the Cubans are not likely to camp for two hours in the same spot. All I can say, mi amigo, is that we had better ride eastward, trusting that we shall meet some pacifico who can tell us the way more particularly.”
“Forward, then!”
From a trot they broke into a gallop, urging the pack horses on by liberal lashing with ropes.