"Caspita!" the Tigrero said calmly, "They smell the fire, that is all."
"What fire? Do you think the prairie is on fire?"
"Of course. You can see it as well as I if you like."
"Hem! What Is the meaning of that?"
"Not much. It is one of the ordinary Indian tricks. We are in the Comanche moon: are you not aware of that?"
"I beg your pardon, I am not a wood ranger. I confess to you that all this alarms me greatly, and that I would willingly give a trifle to be out of it."
"You are a child," Don Martial answered him laughingly. "It is evident that the Indians have fired the prairie to conceal their numbers: they are coming up behind the fire. You will soon hear their war cry sounding amid the clouds of smoke and fire which are approaching, and will soon surround us. By remaining here you run three risks—of being roasted, scalped, or killed: three most unpleasant things, I grant, and which I do not think will suit you. You had better come with me. If you are killed, well, what then? It is a risk to run. Come, dismount; the fire is gaining on us: soon we shall not have the chance. What will you do?"
"I will follow you," the lepero replied in a mournful voice. "I must. I was mad—deuce take me!—to leave Guaymas, where I was so happy—where I lived without working—to come and thrust my head into such wasps' nests. I assure you that if I escape he will be a sharp fellow who catches me here a second time.
"Bah, bah! People always say that. Make haste; we have no time to lose."
In fact, the desert for a distance of several leagues burned like the crater of an immense volcano; the flames undulated and shot along like the waves of the sea, twisting and felling the largest trees like wisps of straw. From the thick curtain of copper-coloured smoke which preceded the flames there escaped, at each moment, bands of coyotes, buffaloes, and jaguars, which, maddened with terror, rushed into the river, uttering yells and deafening cries.