The Montonero seized his carbine, which he loaded as he walked, and they went into the gallery.
The choice did not take long. The three horses were equally young, full of blood, fire, and swiftness. The Montonero, a good judge, saw this at a glance, and took one haphazard.
"What is unfortunate for me in all this," said he, quickly saddling his horse, "is, that I am obliged to leave the same way as I came, and that I run the risk of falling into an ambuscade. There used to be a second gallery in this cavern, but it has been stopped up long ago, I suppose?"
"No, not at all. This gallery is still there. You can easily go out that way."
"If it is so, I am saved," cried the Montonero, with joy.
"Silence!" said the young man, in a low voice, rapidly putting his hand on his companion's mouth; "I hear someone walking."
The Pincheyra listened, and heard the sound of steps close by.
"Oh!" cried he, with a gesture of despair.
"Remain here! Let me act—I'll answer for all," the young man quickly whispered.
And he briskly darted into the cavern. It was time that he came. Tyro was about to look for him in the gallery.