"Believe me, my father, I am happy to hear you speak thus. The count may fail; but in that case he will fall like a hero, and his death will be that of a martyr."
"Yes, the count is a chosen vessel. I believe, like yourself, my child, that if his contemporaries do not do him the justice which is his due, posterity at least will not confound him with those filibusters and shameless adventurers for whom gold alone is everything, and who, whatever may be the title they assume, are in reality no more than highway robbers. But the road is growing wider—we are about to enter the pass. This spot does not enjoy a very good reputation, so keep by my side. Although I believe that we have nothing to fear, it is always well to be prudent."
In fact, as the missionary stated, the path had suddenly widened out: the two sides of the mountain, which had, for some distance, been gradually drawing together, now formed two parallel walls, at the most only forty yards apart. It was this narrow gorge which was known as the Quebrada del Coyote. It was about half a mile in length; but then it suddenly grew wider, and opened on a vast chaparral, covered with thickets and fields of dahlias; while the mountains separated to the right and left, not to meet again till eighty leagues further on.
At the moment when the travellers entered the pass the moon broke out from the clouds in which it floated, and lighted up this dangerous pass with its mournful and sickly light. This gleam, weak as it was, could not fail to be agreeable to the travellers, as it allowed them to look around and see where they were. They pressed on their wearied steeds, in order to arrive more speedily at the end of the gloomy gorge in which they were. They had gone on for about ten minutes, and had nearly reached the centre of the pass, when the neighing of a horse smote their ears.
"We have travellers behind us," the missionary said with a frown.
"And in a hurry, as it seems," Doña Angela added. "Hark!"
They stopped to listen. The noise of hurried galloping reached their ears.
"Who can these men be?" the missionary murmured, speaking to himself.
"Travellers like ourselves, probably."
"No," Father Seraphin remarked, "travellers would not go at such a pace: they are doubtlessly persons in pursuit of us."