It was a hundred yards to the point where the bit of level land dipped, and half the distance was passed, when Captain Navarro called:
“Stop, Martella! Wait!”
The man instantly halted, thrusting his hand under his jacket and closing his iron fingers about the handle of his weapon. Matters had gone too far for any drawing back. It was now to keep on or fight to the death, for he had no doubt that the officer had changed his mind and meant to hold both until the arrival of General Yozarro.
“I will pause to hear what he speaks,” he said in a low voice to the wondering young woman; “your horse knows the trail; keep on; you have not far to go to meet your brother and his friend.”
She had checked the pony, but twitched the rein and he walked steadily toward the darkness, leaving the grim Atlamalcan to have it out with Captain Navarro. The latter was approaching fast and came up panting slightly from the exertion.
“Martella, you will not forget to remind General Yozarro that I was quick to obey his command, as soon as you gave it to me?”
“Have no fear, Captain.”
In the immeasurable relief and the dread of awaking distrust, the deserter punished himself. Instead of immediately following his charge, he remained facing the officer. It seemed wise to indulge in some pointless converse.
The Captain looked inquiringly at him, not understanding the cause of his hesitation.
“Is there anything more you would say to me, Captain? Though I have lingered longer than I expected, I can afford a few more minutes.”