They huddled on the track, drawing their feathered cloaks about them, for the morning was a chill one. And as they waited the light steadily increased, till a dull gleam in the east showed the rising sun. Roger was just commenting upon its appearance, when there was a loud shout.
"Tueles!" called out the scout, who had been sent forward. "Spaniards! They have us between them! Fly!"
"The enemy! Spaniards!" explained Teotlili. "Then we must go. Come, my lord, follow me."
There was no time for further argument or explanation, for the voices of the Spanish horsemen could be heard, while the stamping of their horses' hoofs was very audible. Roger drew his sword, and set off after Teotlili, Tamba leading the way. Then a figure suddenly dashed out of the mist, and bore down upon him, lance in hand.
"Halt! Stand, or I run you through!"
The Spanish horseman took our hero for a native, and never imagined that he would understand. But Roger knew the language, fortunately, and as the man came to closer quarters, swung round and leapt suddenly aside. His sword went up over his shoulder, and the blade fell true on the soldier's head, dropping him like a stone. For an instant Roger thought of leaping on the horse, but two other Spaniards put in an appearance. He turned, therefore, and ran as fast as he was able, till a cry of dismay escaped him. He found no ground for his feet, but plunged headlong down the side of the mountain, crashing on to the rocks some feet below. The fall stunned him for a little while, and when at length he was able to understand and look about him, he saw Spaniards guarding their prisoner, while his sword and crossbow had been removed, and his hands lashed firmly together.
