Did he sleep? Did he wake? None could say. Suddenly the hooting of an owl arose on the air. In an instant Don Fernando half-raised himself, bent his head forward, and listened, with his eyes fixed on the heavens.
It was deep in the night; the stars were shedding on the earth their obscure and doubtful light; nothing foretold the approach of day.
It was scarcely two o'clock in the morning; the owl is the first bird to announce the approach of the sun, but owls do not proclaim the day three hours before it breaks. Notwithstanding the perfection of the imitation, the Mexican hesitated. Soon a second hoot, followed by a third, dispersed the doubts of Don Fernando; he rose, and thrice repeated the cry of the water hawk.
A similar cry issued immediately from the opposite bank of the river.
Don Fernando bridled his horse, cast his zarapé over his shoulders, examined his weapons to ensure their efficacy, flung himself into the saddle without touching stirrup, and crossed the river.
A short distance in front of him lay an islet, covered with poplars and cotton trees, towards which he bent his steps. The approach to the islet was easy; the horse, recruited by his two hours' rest, swam strongly, and touched the ground nearly in a straight line from the spot where he had plunged in.
Scarcely had the Mexican reached the land, when a rider emerged from the thicket, and halting some twenty paces off, exclaimed, in a loud voice, and an accent of great discontent:
"You were late in replying to my signal. I was on the point of leaving."
"Perhaps it would have been better had you done so," sharply replied Don Fernando.
"Aha!" said the other mockingly, "Does the wind blow from that quarter?"