"Who goes there?"
"A friend," the bandit answered.
"Your name, caray," the stranger continued; "there are no friends in the desert at this hour of the night."
"Oh, oh!" Red Cedar continued; bursting into a hoarse laugh, "I see that Don Pedro Sandoval is as prudent as ever."
"Man or demon, as you know me so well," the stranger said, in a somewhat softer tone, "tell me what your name is, I say once again, or, by heaven, I'll lodge a couple of slugs in your skull. So do not let me run the risk of killing a friend."
"Come, come, calm yourself, hidalgo; did you not recognise my voice, and have you so short a memory that you have already forgotten Red Cedar."
"Red Cedar!" the Spaniard repeated in surprise, "then you are not hung yet, my worthy friend?"
"Not yet; to my knowledge, gossip. I hope to prove it to you ere long."
"Come across, in the devil's name; do not let us go on talking at this distance."
The stranger left the bridgehead, where he had stationed himself, probably to dispute the passage in case of necessity, and drew off, uncocking his rifle. Not waiting for a second invitation, Red Cedar bounded on to the tree and crossed it in a few seconds; he affectionately shook the Spaniard's hand, and then they entered the grotto together.