Valentine, like all men accustomed to desert life, that is to vast horizons of verdure, had an instinctive distrust of stone walls, behind which, in his fancy, a spy was continually listening. Hence, when he had an important affair to discuss, or a serious matter to communicate to his friends, he preferred—in spite of the care with which his house had been chosen, and the faithful friends who passed as servants there—going to the Alameda, the Paseo de Bucareli, the Vega, or somewhere in the environs of Mexico, where after posting Curumilla as a sentry, that is to say, the man in whom he had the most perfect faith, and whose scent, if I may be allowed the term, was infallible, he believed that he could safely confide his closest secrets to the friends he conveyed to these strange open air councils.
On reaching a thick clump of trees the hunter stopped.
"We shall be comfortable here," he said, as he sat down on a stone bench and invited his friends to imitate him, "and shall be able to talk without fear."
"The trees have eyes, and the leaves ears," Belhumeur answered sententiously; "I fear nothing so much in the world as these transparent screens of verdure, which allow everything to be seen and heard."
"Yes," Valentine remarked with a smile, "if you do not take the precaution to frighten away spies;" and at the same moment he imitated the soft cadenced hiss of the coral snake.
A similar hiss was heard from the centre of the clump and seemed like an echo.
"That is the chief's signal," the Canadian said. "He has been watching for us there for nearly an hour. Do you now believe that we are in safety?"
"Certainly; when Curumilla watches over us we have no surprise to apprehend."
"Let us talk, then," said Don Martial.
"One moment," Valentine remarked, "we must first hear the report of a friend, which is most valuable, and will doubtless decide the measures we have to adopt."