When both were ready, which was very soon, Tom softly opened the door of their parlor, thrusting one foot out into the broad corridor. As he did so he kicked against a man lying prostrate on the floor. It was Nicolas, the Mexican attendant, sleeping across their threshold that he might be on hand when wanted.
The man stirred, muttered something almost inaudible, then gradually began to breathe more deeply. Tom, after waiting, took a step over the body of Nicolas. Harry closed the door behind them, then followed. Soon after they stood out on the lawn.
"I'm glad Nicolas went to sleep again," muttered Tom, in a low voice. "The fellow would have insisted on following us, and I wouldn't want him with us to-night, to tell Don Luis everything."
"But what on earth—"
"Harry, old fellow, Don Luis is the essence of courtesy. He has been very polite to us, too. Yet something has aroused a suspicion in me that Don Luis Montez wishes to use us in some way that we wouldn't care to be used. So I'm saying little, but my eyes are going to be open all the time from now on."
"Oh, Don Luis must be on the square," Hazelton retorted. "What could he want of us that is crooked?"
"I don't know, yet," Tom replied, as he led the way rapidly down the road. "But I'm going to watch, and, if there's anything wrong, I'm going to get a line on it."
"El Sombrero is Don Luis's own mine. Surely he hasn't hired us to fool him about his own property."
"I don't know what it is that's wrong," Tom admitted. "Nor am I sure that anything is wrong. But I'm going to do my own watching and gather some of my own information. See, there are the lights on that trail beyond, and there are several lights. It looks like a caravan moving down the trail."
"A caravan?" Harry repeated. "Of what?"