“They will not run far,” he said, in Spanish. “And when they drop into a walk they will pay up for their speed by going slower than ever.”
Nevertheless, the others set off after the two in advance, for the guide feared they would take to the wrong road, one leading into the country and away from the caves.
This was just what Darry and Hockley did, and soon they came to what was little better than a rough trail, with thatched huts on either side. The mules kept together at first but presently Darry forged ahead.
“Whoop I here we go!” he yelled. “Look out for the mountain express!” And then he had to cling fast, as the mule switched his heavy-ended tail and kicked up with his rear hoofs.
Soon Darry reached what seemed to be the middle of a settlement, with huts on all sides. Here was a big stone cistern, filled with water, and with the top wide open. Several natives were at hand, some of them with buckets and shells.
As soon as he reached the cistern the mule Darry rode came to an abrupt halt. Looking back the boy saw that Hockley was now having his hands full with his steed, which was rearing and plunging in a most surprising fashion.
“Look out, Glummy, or he’ll throw you!” he sang out. “He’s getting his dander up!”
“He shan’t throw me!” panted Hockley. “I’ll show him who is master!” And he hit the mule on the neck with his fist.
By this time the professor and the other boys came riding up, along with the guide. Hockley’s mule kept dancing around, and they had to move from one spot to another to keep out of the way.
“Better get off!” began Professor Strong, when of a sudden the mule made a sudden bolt forward.