The three men were sitting in the underwood, which began to be shrouded in darkness. The Pincheyra had gone to seek his horse, which had been left near those of the gauchos, to feed on the fresh grass and the young roots of trees.
"Shall we light a fire?" asked Mataseis.
"What for?" asked Don Pablo.
"Why, first to see clearly, and then to warm ourselves."
"To say nothing of the glare of the fire keeping off the wild beasts," added Sacatripas.
"And attracting the red and white spies who are roaming about," said the partisan with irony. "Are you afraid?"
"Afraid—of what?" said Mataseis.
"I do not know—of your shadow, perhaps?"
"Never—neither my brother nor I—we have no fear," said the gaucho, in a harsh voice.
"Ah; not even that of rapping your knuckles in striking flint and steel," pursued the Pincheyra in a tone of sarcasm; "then I offer you my compliments, caballeros; for I have many a time had that fear myself."