“You want to pray the saints they don’t get their claws on you,” retorted Miguel.
Further words he could not catch as they rode along.
“I wonder what will be the next move,” thought Chot as he made his way to better security farther up in the tree. “I think I will study up flying machines when I get out of this. A pair of wings would come in handy just now.”
Chot was not long left in doubt for in ten minutes the men came back through the woods, evidently in search of him.
“What did I tell you,” expostulated Miguel. “I knew he would get away somehow.”
“He hasn’t got away yet,” growled the other, stopping beneath the tree in which Chot had taken refuge. “He disappeared in the woods somewhere and I am going to find him. He is somewhere between this locality and the edge of the wood where we found his horse. Say but you did not give him a big enough dose. The animal ought to have played out hours ago.”
“So they tried to poison my horse,” was Chot’s thought.
“I am going to find him,” repeated Jose.
“Quiza!” said Miguel, looking about him, “Maybe you will and maybe you won’t. If he were human where could he go? There is no place here where he could hide.”
“He is here somewhere,” retorted Jose, “and I am going to search him out. He knows too much and I am going to get rid of him. He must be up a tree and so he must come down.”