“If only we had horses!” put in Alano.
“We must find animals, my son.”
The captain spoke decidedly. “Necessity knows no law,” and it was easy to see he intended to obtain the horses—if not in one way, then in another. Of course I did not blame him. To me it seemed a matter of life and death.
As rapidly as we could, we made our way around the hills to the Santiago road. We had just reached it when Burnham, who was slightly in advance, halted us and announced a camp off to our left. Captain Guerez surveyed the situation and smiled.
“Cattle dealers,” he said. “They have brought in horses to sell to the Spanish authorities. I’ll make a deal with them.”
He went off, with Alano at his side. Instead of following, Burnham and I concealed ourselves in the bushes, to watch who might pass on the highway to the seaport town. There was no telling when those who had my father in custody would be along.
It was a long while before the captain and my chum came back, but when they did each rode a strong horse and led another behind. Burnham and I were soon in the saddle; and then all of us felt safer, for being in the saddle would place us in a position equally as good as that occupied by any of our enemies.
“Look well to your pistols,” said the captain. “It may be that a sharp and wild dash will be the only way in which Mark’s father can be rescued.”
“I hope the guard having him in charge is not too large,” I answered, as I did as he suggested.