The count made up his mind on the instant. He dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and galloped at full speed in the direction of San José. It seemed to him as if the strangers imitated him, and pressed on their horses too.
A few minutes passed thus, during which the sound grew more distinct. It was, therefore, evident to the Frenchman that the strangers were after him. He threw a glance behind him, and perceived two shadows, still distant, rushing at full speed towards him. By this time the count had reached the Rancho. Reassured by the vicinity of houses, and not caring to fly from a perhaps imaginary danger, he turned back, drew his horse across the road, took a pistol in each hand, and waited. The strangers were still pressing on without checking the speed of their horses, and were soon within twenty yards of the count.
"Who goes there?" he shouted in a firm and loud voice.
The unknown made no reply, and appeared to redouble their speed.
"Who's there?" the count repeated. "Stop, or I fire!"
He uttered these words with such a determined accent, his countenance was so intrepid, that, after a few moments' hesitation, the strangers stopped.
There were two of them. The day, just feebly breaking, permitted the count to distinguish them perfectly. They were dressed in Mexican costume; but, strangely enough in this country, where, under similar circumstances, the bandits care very little about showing their faces, the strangers were masked.
"Hold, my masters!" shouted the count. "What means this obstinate pursuit?"
"That we probably have an interest in catching you up," replied a hoarse voice sarcastically.
"Then you really are after me?"