The Spaniard, drawing his horse after him by the bridle, entered a large clearing lighted up by a dozen fires, round which were crouched a hundred men with sinister faces and irregular accoutrements, but all armed to the teeth. These bandits, whose ferocious appearance would have delighted a painter, illumined as they were by the fantastic flames of the braseros, were gambling, drinking, and quarrelling, and did not seem to notice Don Cornelio's arrival. The latter made a gesture of disgust on seeing them, but hobbled his horse near theirs, and rejoined the captain, who had already seated himself by a fire evidently made specially for him, as not one of the worthy people he had the honour of commanding came near it.
"Now I will hear you," the captain said so soon as he saw his comrade stretched out comfortably at his side.
"What I have to say will not take long."
"Let me hear it, at any rate."
"In two words, this is the matter: our expedition of this evening is useless—the bird has flown."
The captain, according to his habit in any moment of nervous excitement, rapped out a frightful oath.
"Patience!" the Spaniard went on. "This is what has happened."
And he described the way in which Father Seraphin had left the camp, accompanied by the young lady. On hearing it the worthy captain's face brightened.
"Come," he said, "all is for the best. What will you do?"
"Give me El Buitre and ten resolute men. The priest must pass through the Quebrada del Coyote: on arriving there I promise to strip him."