"Thank God, it's Dudley! What has happened, lad? Who is this fellow?"
In his own impulsive manner the owner of the neighboring estancia galloped up to our hero, reined in his horse with iron fingers, and then stretched out a big hand to grip that of his young manager. And there the two sat, unable to speak for a few seconds, while the gauchos, with Pietro at their head, surrounded the little party, uttering cries of astonishment, and looking wonderingly at the Englishman who was in their midst and at the bearded repulsive stranger lashed to the horse beside him.
"Who is this fellow?" demanded Mr. Blunt sternly, releasing Dudley's hand and riding closer so as to inspect the prisoner. "We heard shots. The men at our outpost corral reported that firing was to be heard somewhere in this direction, and, happening to be spending the night with them, I brought a strong party out on to the pampas. The firing got louder as we rode, and we were sure it came from the forest, from the direction of the estancia which you and your men were to visit. We were suspicious, and were wondering whether we should advance at once or send back for more men, when we heard a shout. Then—why, great powers, I know this fellow!"
Antonio had kept his head averted all this while, but a sudden movement, a half-turn of the horse to which he was lashed, had swung him round, and in a moment Mr. Blunt was staring into a dark, forbidding face, clothed with a matted beard, and displaying at that second a variety of expressions, fear and hate mingled strangely together. Antonio Sarvisti had known from the very first who the newcomer was. The voice was sufficient, and how he hated that! Then there was the huge figure, the commanding presence of the burly Englishman, with his direct way of speaking, his open-hearted manner, all of which reminded this rascal of past days, of a man whom he had disliked from the first, and against whom, for some foolish, fancied cause, he had sworn to be revenged. Men of his stamp and country were not the ones to reason such matters out. Blind unreasoning hate had kept him to his purpose, and he had persevered, always to be met by failure.
"So this ruffian is your prisoner?" said Mr. Blunt, recovering from his astonishment. "Tell me all about his capture. What has happened?"
He sat stockstill on his horse while Dudley recounted how he and his party had visited the estancia of Antonio last of all, how their suspicions had been aroused, and how, while returning to look further into the matter, they had been caught in an ambush. Then he related his own escape, his meeting with the leader of the band of robbers, and his final ride for freedom.
"Then I understand that at the present moment there are some fifty-five brigands lying in the forest ready to attack our men," said Mr. Blunt quietly, as if he were reviewing the whole position. "They probably know nothing of the capture you have made, and are simply waiting for the dawn. It will be here in an hour, perhaps, though it will still be dark in the forest. I have thirty men here."
"Thirty-four, señor," corrected Pietro.
"Thirty-four, then, of whom two will be required to take charge of this rascal. The others are at your service, Dudley. How do you propose to make use of them?"
He was going to place the whole affair in his manager's hands. Mr. Blunt was not the man to interfere where interference was unnecessary, and now he determined that Dudley should see the matter through, and, having done so much, should extricate the little party which he had commanded.