"Yes. Then finding I had learnt sufficient of the expedition the redskins were undertaking, I slipped away and regained our camp as soon as possible. You know the—"
"Yes, I know the rest, Don Martial," the hacendero said almost affectionately; "and I thank you most sincerely, not only for the intelligence you have displayed on this occasion, but also for the devotion with which you compelled us to follow you, instead of being disgusted by our mad sloth."
"I have done nothing but what I should do, Don Sylva. Have I not sworn to devote my life to you?"
"Yes, my friend, and you keep your vow nobly."
Since the hacendero had known Don Martial this was the first time he spoke openly with him, and gave him the title of friend. The Tigrero was touched by this expression; and if he had hitherto felt some slight prejudice against Don Sylva, it was suddenly dissipated, and only left in his heart a feeling of profound gratitude.
Doña Anita awoke during this conversation, and it was with an indescribable joy that she heard them talking thus amicably together. When her father told her the cause of the hasty journey she had been compelled to undertake in the middle of the night, she warmly thanked Don Martial, and rewarded him for all his sufferings by one of those glances, the secret of which only women in love possess, and into which they throw their whole soul. The Tigrero, delighted at seeing his devotion appreciated as it deserved served to be, forgot all his fatigues, and had only one desire—that of terminating happily what he had so well begun. So soon as the horses were saddled they mounted again.
"I leave myself in your hands, Don Martial," the hacendero said: "you alone; can save us."
"With the help of Heaven I shall succeed," the Tigrero replied passionately.
They entered the river, which was rather wide at this spot. Instead of crossing it at right angles, Don Martial, in order to throw the savages off the scent, followed the course of the river for some distance, and made repeated curves. At length, on reaching a point where the river was inclosed by two calcareous banks, where it was impossible for the horses' hoofs to leave any marks, he landed. The party had left the desert. Before them stretched those immense prairies, whose undulating soil gradually, rises to the slopes of the Sierra Madre and the Sierra de los Comanches. They are no longer sterile and desolate plains, denuded of wood and water, but a luxuriant nature, with an extraordinary productive force—trees, flowers, grass; countless birds singing joyously beneath the foliage; animals of every description running, browsing and sporting in the midst of these natural prairies.
The travellers yielded instinctively to the feeling of comfort produced by the sight of this splendid prairie, when compared with the desolate desert they had just quitted, and in which they had wandered about so long haphazard. This contrast was full of charm for them: they felt, their courage rekindled, and hope returning to their hearts. About eleven o'clock the horses were so fatigued that the travellers were compelled to encamp, in order to give them a few hours' rest, and thus pass the great heats of the day. Don Martial chose the top of a wooded hill, whence the prairie could be surveyed, while they remained completely concealed among the trees.