"Rayo de Dios!" cried Don Santiago; "The scout was right; we were closely followed; the demons have made haste, but now it is too late for them. We do not fear them any longer. To your saddles, and ahead! Ahead!"
They set out again.
This time the journey was not so rapid. The fugitives believed themselves safe, not to be overtaken. The lead they had gained was too great, and, according to all probability, they would arrive at the mountains before the patriots could reach them.
Once in the passes of the Cordilleras, they were saved.
The flight, however, could not but be fatiguing to the two ladies, who, accustomed to all the refinements of luxury, could only keep themselves on horseback by dint of energy and of will, and stimulated especially by the fear of again falling into the hands of their persecutors. Tyro and his master were obliged to keep constantly by their side, and watch over them attentively. Without this precaution they would have fallen from their horses—not so much by reason of the fatigue they suffered, though that fatigue was great, but because sleep overcame them, and prevented them, notwithstanding all their efforts, from keeping their eyes open and guiding their horses.
"But who has betrayed us?" suddenly exclaimed Don Santiago.
"I know him," answered Sacatripas.
"You know him, Señor? Well, then, you will do me the pleasure of telling me, will you not?"
"It is useless, Señor. The man who has betrayed you is dead; only he has been killed two hours too late."
"That is unfortunate, indeed; and why too late?"