“Maybe they took him prisoner.”
“Well, that's to be thought of, too.”
Suddenly there was a cry. Around the bend of the road in front of them came a cloud of dust. From it emerged a horse's head.
“Hello, hello, there's something.”
“Remember, we are not to fire first.”
“Perhaps that's Hooven; I can't see. Is it? There only seems to be one horse.”
“Too much dust for one horse.”
Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to his eyes.
“That's not them,” he announced presently, “nor Hooven either. That's a cart.” Then after another moment, he added, “The butcher's cart from Guadalajara.”
The tension was relaxed. The men drew long breaths, settling back in their places.