"I am certain of it. You know as well as I do these Indios Bravos, and the implacable hatred they have vowed against us. The war they wage with us is atrocious; and for them to be suddenly changed from wolves into lambs requires some powerful motive to make them act thus. People do not lay aside in a moment a hatred which has endured for ages. The Comanches, by the choice they made, know the importance of the prisoners they have seized. How is it that they consent so easily to give them up for a trifling ransom? There is some inexplicable mystery in all this."
"Which is very easy to explain though," a laughing voice interrupted from behind the shrubs.
The two Mexicans started, and checked their horses. A man leaped from a thicket, and suddenly appeared in the centre of the track the little band of hunters was following. The latter, believing in a fresh attack and treachery on the part of the Comanches, seized their weapons.
"Stop!" Don Miguel said sharply, "the man is alone. Let me speak with him."
Each waited with his hand on his weapon.
"Hold!" Don Miguel continued, addressing the stranger, who stood motionless, carelessly resting on his gun. "Who are you, my master?"
"Do you not recognise me, Don Miguel? and must I really tell you my name?" the stranger answered with a laugh.
"The Trail-hunter!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"Himself," Valentine continued. "Hang it all! You take a long time to recognise your friends."
"You will forgive us when you know all that has happened to us, and how much we must keep on our guard."