"Stay," the lepero again remarked; "it is a good distance from this place to the hacienda; I can never swim it."
"Patience. We shall find, I am certain, if we take the trouble to look, means to shorten it. Ah, look?" he said, a moment later. "What did I say to you?"
The Tigrero pointed out to the lepero a small canoe fastened to a stake in a small creek.
"The colonists often come here to fish," he continued: "they have several canoes concealed like this at various spots. We will take this one, and in a few moments we shall reach our destination. Do you know how to manage a paddle?"
"Yes, when I am not afraid."
Don Martial looked at him for a few seconds, then laying his hand roughly on his shoulder, said in a sharp voice:—
"Listen, Cucharés, my friend. I have no time to discuss the matter with you; I have extremely serious reasons for acting as I am now doing. I want on your part hearty co-operation, so take warning in time. You know me: at the first suspicious movement I will blow out your brains as I would a coyote's. Now help me to launch the canoe and start."
The lepero understood—resigned himself. In a few minutes the canoe was ready and the two men in it. The passage they had to make to reach the back of the hacienda was not long, but bristled with dangers. In the first place, through the strength of the current which bore with it a large quantity of dead trees, most of them still having their branches, and which, floating half submerged in the water, threatened at each pull to pierce the frail boat. Next, the animals which continued to shun the fire, crossed the river in compact bands; and if the canoe were entangled in one of these manadas mad with terror, it must be crushed with its passengers. The lightest danger the adventurers ran was the receipt of a bullet from the sentinels hidden in the bushes which defended the approach to the colony on the river side. But this danger was as nothing compared with the others to which we have alluded. There was every reason for assuming that the French, aroused by the flames, would direct all their attention to the land side. Besides, Don Martial believed he had nothing to fear from the sentries, who would probably have been withdrawn.
At a signal from Don Martial, Cucharés took up the paddles, and they started. The fire was rapidly retiring in a western direction while continuing its ravages. The canoe advanced slowly and cautiously through the innumerable objects which each moment checked its progress.
Cucharés, pale as a corpse, with hair standing on end, and eyes enlarged by terror, rowed on frenziedly, while recommending his soul fervently to all the numberless saints of the Spanish calendar, for he was more than ever convinced that he would never emerge in safety from the enterprise on which he had so foolishly entered.