At this moment the caravan caught up the two speakers.
"Well, Blas," Don Sylva asked, "Who is the man?"
"A Hiaqui Indian. He is returning to his village, after earning a trifle at the Puerto."
"Can he be of service to us?"
"I believe so. His tribe, he says, is encamped near the Gila."
"Ah!" said the count, drawing nearer, "Does he belong to the White Horse tribe?"
"Yes," the Indian said.
"In that case I answer for the man," the count said quickly. "Those Indians are very gentle; they are miserable beggars, often starving; and I employ them at the hacienda."
"Listen!" Don Sylva said, tapping the redskin's shoulder amicably. "We are going to Guetzalli."
"Good."