The Montonero, seated before the fire, with his back leaning on the trunk of the tree, in the position the most comfortable he could secure, warmed his feet carelessly, smoking his cigarette.
Suddenly a shrill whistle rent the air.
At the same moment Zeno Cabral started up as if moved by a spring.
Rekindling the half-extinguished embers of the fire, on which he threw an armful of dead wood, he picked up a branch of balsam tree, lighted it, walked to the commencement or the slope of the hill, and then, having rapidly waved it above his head, he threw it in the air, where it traced a long streak of fire.
Almost immediately a second whistle, but nearer, was heard.
Zeno Cabral took a second torch, and lighting it, he waved it above his head, and darted it into the air, like the first.
This signal given, the partisan returned to his fire, passed his pistols in his girdle, took his gun, on which he leaned, and waited.
He did not wait long. In about five minutes the sound of steps and a trembling of the grass indicated that several persons were approaching.
"Has the moon of wild oats already so far advanced that the darkness is so thick?" said a voice.
"It is easy to procure light," answered Zeno Cabral, lighting a torch, and raising it above his head.