"Because he had had time to speak."
"A good many things can be said in two hours, especially when there is no interruption. And you are sure of that?"
"Perfectly sure."
"At least," philosophically replied the Montonero, "we have the consolation of being certain that he will speak no more—there is something in that. As to the men who follow us," added he, turning round, "we—"
But he suddenly checked himself, uttering a horrible oath, and bounding from his saddle.
"What is the matter?" asked Emile, with uneasiness.
"¡Mil demonios!—that these pícaros are gaining on us every moment, and that in an hour they will have reached us."
"Oh! Oh!" quickly cried the young man; "Do you think so?"
"Why, look yourself."
The painter looked; the Montonero had spoken truly. The enemy's troop was sensibly approaching.