"I can see nothing," Don Sylva went on; "it is as black as in an oven."
"That is true: still, if you look more carefully at the object I point out you will easily recognise it."
Without any reply the hacendero pushed on his horse.
"A man hung by the feet!" he uttered, stopping his horse with a gesture of horror and disgust. "What can have happened here?"
"Who can say? It is not a savage—his colour and dress do not allow the least doubt on that point; still he has his scalp, so the Apaches did not kill him. What is the meaning it?"
"A mutiny perhaps," the hacendero hazarded.
Don Martial became pensive; his eyebrows contracted. "It is not possible," he said to himself; but a moment after added, "Let us enter the house; we must not leave Doña Anita any longer alone. Our absence must surprise her and might alarm her if prolonged. When the encampment is arranged I will go and look, and I shall be very unlucky if I do not discover the clue to this ill-omened mystery."
The two men retired and rejoined Doña Anita, who was awaiting them a few paces off, under the guard of the peons. When the travellers had dismounted and crossed the threshold of the casa, Don Martial lighted several torches of ocote wood to find their way in the darkness, and guided his companions to the large hall to which we have already introduced our readers. It was not the first time Don Martial had visited the ruins: frequently, during his long hunting expeditions in the western prairies, they had offered him a refuge. Thus he knew their most hidden nooks.
It was he, too, who had urged his companions to proceed to the Casa Grande, for he was convinced that the count could only find there a safe and sure bivouac for his troop. The hall, in which a table stood, presented unmistakable signs of the recent passage of several persons, and a tolerably prolonged stay they had made at the spot.
"You see," he said to the hacendero, "that I was not mistaken; the persons we seek stopped here."