“Where to now?” I asked, for the place was strange to me.
The girl, Maya, looked round her, then she glanced up at the heavens.
“Follow me,” she said, “I know a way,” and started down the garden at a run.
Presently we came to a wall the height of a man, beyond which was a thick hedge of aloes. Over the wall we climbed, and through the aloes we burst a path, not without doing ourselves some hurt,—for the thorns were sharp,—to find ourselves in a milpa or corn-field. Here the girl stopped, again searching the stars, and at that moment we heard sounds of shouting, and, looking back, saw lights moving to and fro in the hacienda.
“We must go forward or perish,” I said, “Don Pedro has aroused his men.”
Then she dashed into the milpa, and we followed her. There was no path, and the cornstalks, that stood high above us, caught our feet and shook the dew in showers upon our heads, till our clothes were filled with water like a sponge. Still we struggled on, one following the other, for fifteen minutes or more, till at length we were clear of the cultivated land and standing on the borders of the forest.
“Halt,” I said, “where do we run to? The road lies to the right, and by following it we may reach a town.”
“To be arrested as murderers,” broke in the señor. “You forget that José Moreno is dead at my hands, and his father will swear our lives away, or that at the best we shall be thrown into prison. No, no, we must hide in the bush.”
“Sirs,” said the old Indian, speaking for the first time, “I know a secret place in the forest, an ancient and ruined building, where we may take refuge for a while if we can reach it. But first I ask, who are you?”
“You should know me, Zibalbay,” said Molas, “seeing that I am the messenger whom you sent to search for him that you desire to find, the Lord and Keeper of the Heart,” and he pointed to me.