It was night. Thick darkness covered the earth; a mournful silence reigned over the wilderness to which chance had brought him.
"Where am I?" he exclaimed, endeavouring to make out his position.
But the moon, hidden by clouds, gave forth no ray; the wind began to roar like thunder; the branches of the trees crashed against each other, and, from the depths of the wilderness, the growlings of the wild beast began to mingle their deep notes with the sharper howling of the wild cats.
Don Torribio strained his eyes in vain efforts to penetrate the darkness around him. At last he approached his horse, which was stretched on the ground, and drawing its breath with difficulty. Moved with pity for the faithful companion of so many adventures, he stooped down, removed his pistols from the holsters to his belt, and taking from the saddle, where it was slung, a gourd filled with rum, began to wash the eyes, nostrils, and mouth of the panting animal. Half an hour's persistence seemed to restore life to the horse. He got on his legs, and, with his natural instinct, soon discovered a neighbouring rill, at which he slaked his thirst.
"All is not yet lost," muttered Don Torribio; "after all, I may make my escape hence."
But a deep roar resounded at a short distance, repeated immediately afterwards in four different directions.
The horse's coat stood on end; and Don Torribio felt a cold shudder run through his veins.
"Curse upon it!" he exclaimed; "I have stumbled upon a drinking place for panthers! What is to be done?"
He stooped, and found the confirmation of his fears in the footprints stamped in the muddy borders of the rill.
Just at this moment he saw, at ten paces from him, two eyes, glimmering like burning coals, fixed upon him with strange intensity.