Two horses still remained—one for Tyro, the other for Sacatripas.
At the moment when the Guaraní put his feet in the stirrups, a sharp whistle was heard in the woods.
"There is our scout," said he; and he answered the signal.
Sacatripas, indeed, almost immediately appeared.
The gaucho appeared to have been running rapidly; his chest heaved, his face was covered with perspiration.
"Let us go, let us go!" said he, in a sad voice; "If, we do not want to be smoked out like wolves. In less than half an hour they will be here."
"The devil!" cried the Montonero; "That is bad news, companion."
"It is certain."
"What direction must we take?"
"That of the mountains."