It was hardly dawn; yet, as all had had a fair night’s rest, it was determined to proceed on our way and take a somewhat longer rest during the hot noon hour.
“This fire will necessitate a change in our course,” said Captain Guerez to me.
“Will that delay us much?”
“Not over a few hours. We will reach Rodania by nightfall.”
The captain was right, for it was not yet six o’clock when, from the side of one mountain, we saw the buildings of Rodania perched upon the side of another. We traveled across the tiny valley separating the two, and just outside of the town Captain Guerez called a halt.
“I think I had better send Jorge ahead and see if the coast is clear,” he said. “The coming of the negro into town will not be noticed, and he can speedily learn if there are any Spaniards about.”
This was agreed upon, and, after receiving his instructions, the colored guide hurried away, to be gone less than half an hour.
“Spanish soldiers dare yesterday,” he announced. “All gone now—on the road to Cubineta.”
“Did they have any prisoners?” questioned Captain Guerez.