Night was falling then, but she was soon spied by those in the rear. Presently, these had told others, and the soldiers stretched their necks to look back to where she trudged. There was some whispering among those nearest her, and presently the padre reined a little to speak.
“You were not with us when we left the town,” he said. “How come you to be here?”
“I wish to go to Higuerote,” she answered, but would explain no further.
Seeing her questioned, one of the asistentes, a kindly old man, fell back to offer her a cigarette. She took it gratefully.
“And do you ignore the Church?” demanded the padre reprovingly.
The asistente handed over a cigarette, and soon the three were journeying forward together.
The night breeze swept over them as they went, making the way cool, and bringing with it the fragrance of growing things. But their travelling was difficult. The road was only a cart’s width, hard and stony, rising and falling, too, on broken ground. There was no moon over the first third of the journey, and every little while a jaguar, scenting their passing, howled out at them from the dark, vine-hung forest lining the march.
Bit by bit Manuelita told her companions the story of Ricardo’s flight. As the padre listened, his round, florid face grew solemn, and he poked out his under lip dubiously. The asistente, on the other hand, swore often and pityingly, so that the good priest was kept busy crossing himself.
“And have you come all the way from the hacienda San Jacinto to-day?” asked the soldier.
“Since morning,” Manuelita answered.