The Indian, who, notwithstanding the darkness, appeared to see as if it were broad daylight, guided his master through the intricate paths, apparently inextricable, but through which he proceeded with a certainty which indicated a complete knowledge of the places which he traversed. The painter, unaccustomed to these night journeys, followed him as well as he could, stumbling at nearly every step, but not being discouraged, and cheerfully taking his part in this new adventure.
The journey from the grotto to the place where they were to stay was short—it did not last longer than three-quarters of an hour.
Tyro stopped before a rancho of a sufficiently miserable aspect, built on the summit of a hill. He opened, without otherwise announcing his presence, a door formed of an ox hide stretched over a hurdle of willow.
The rancho was, or rather appeared, deserted.
The Indian struck a light with his flint and steel, and lit a sebo.[2]
The interior of the rancho resembled the exterior, and was very miserable.
"Eh?" said Emile, casting a scrutinising look round him, "This rancho is abandoned, then."
"By no means, master," answered Tyro; "but the occupants have withdrawn into the other room, so as not to see us."
"Oh! Oh! And for why?"
"Simply because, if they should come to look for us here, they could with a good conscience affirm that that they do not know you, and that they have not seen you."