We will observe, in passing, that in Spanish America, so soon as you leave the capitals, such as Lima, or Mexico, roads, such as we understand them in Europe, no longer exist; you only find paths traced, in nine cases out of ten, by the footprints of wild beasts, and which are so entangled one with the other, that, unless you have been long accustomed to them, it is almost impossible to find your way. The Spaniards, we grant, laid out wide and firm roads, but since the War of Independence, they had been cut up, deteriorated and so abandoned by the neglect of the ephemeral governments that have followed each other in Mexico, that with the exception of the great highways of communication in the interior of the country, the rest had disappeared under the herbage.
The little squad of troopers sent out to beat up the country had started at a gallop, but it soon reduced its pace, and the soldiers and sergeant began laughing and talking, caring little for the important mission with which they were intrusted. The moon rose on the horizon, shedding her fantastic rays over the ground. As we have said, it was one of those lovely nights of the American desert full of strange odours. A majestic silence hovered over the plain, only disturbed at intervals by those sounds, without any known cause, which are heard on the savannahs, and which seem to be the respiration of the sleeping world. Suddenly the mockingbird sung twice, and its plaintive and soft song resounded melodiously through the air.
"Hallo," one of the dragoons said, addressing his comrade, "that's a bird that sings very late."
"An evil omen," the other said with a shake of his head.
"Canarios! What omen are you talking about, comrade?"
"I have always heard say," the second, speaker remarked sententiously, "that when you hear a bird sing on your left at night it predicts misfortune."
"The deuce confound you and your prognostics."
At this moment the song, which appeared previously some distance off, could be heard much more close, and seemed to come from some trees on the side of the path the dragoons were following. The Alferez raised his head and stopped, as if mechanically trying to explain the sound that smote his ears; but all became silent again, so he shook his head and continued his conversation. The detachment had been out more than an hour. During this long stroll, the soldiers had discovered nothing suspicious; as for the guide they sought, it is needless to say that they had not found him, for they had not met a living soul. The Alferez was about to give orders to return to camp, when one of the troopers pointed out to him some heavy, black forms, apparently prowling about unsuspiciously.
"What on earth can that be?" the officer asked, after carefully examining what was pointed out to him.
"Caspita," one of the dragoons exclaimed, "that is easy to see; they are browsing deer!"