"I know who was there."
"Who?"
"Springer. He used to herd cattle for my father, you know, and I recognised him the moment I put my eyes on him. He was shot right there," said George, placing the forefingers of each hand on his legs to indicate the spots where Zeke's bullets had found a lodgement. "He was badly injured, too, and I don't believe he ever got back across the river."
"Wal, he did," said one of the men. "He had a hard time of it, but he got through all right, an' he's thar now."
"I am very glad to hear it," said George, to himself. "That's just what I was trying to get at. If I can find him, perhaps he will help me escape."
George held no further conversation with his captors during the ride, for they were busy talking with each other. As they conversed wholly in the Spanish language, George could not understand what they said, but still he knew that they were talking about Philip, for he heard his name mentioned now and then, and it was almost always coupled with an oath. They seemed to think that their trusted spy had been guilty of treachery, and they made a report to that effect when they got across the river.
It was five miles to the nearest belt of timber, and while they were travelling toward it, the cattle-thieves exercised the utmost caution, stopping on the top of every swell and sweeping their eyes around the horizon to make sure that there was no one in sight. But they reached the timber without being seen by anybody, and there they camped to wait until dark. They did not think it safe to approach the ford in broad daylight. George now had an opportunity to finish the nap from which he had been so rudely awakened, and the cattle-thieves took turns in standing guard.
When night came, he was ordered into the saddle again and led toward the ford, his captors taking the same precautions as before to prevent his escape. They crossed the river in safety, and as soon as their horses had mounted the opposite bank, they were put to their full speed. There was no need of concealment now, for the cattle-thieves were among friends who, had they been pursued by ranchemen or troops from Texas, would have done everything in their power to aid them to escape.
They now had a journey of eighteen miles before them, and it required but a little over two hours for them to accomplish it. It was so dark at first that George could not see his hand before him; but the moon arose after a while, and then he was able to see that they were following a well-beaten trail, which ran in a tortuous course through the hills. This trail finally led them into a wide valley, from the middle of which arose the whitewashed walls of what had been a comfortable rancho. Their horses' hoofs rang out loudly on the pavement as they rode unchallenged into the open gateway and along the arched passage that led to the spacious patio or court-yard. It was deserted, save by a few goats that were feeding at a pile of fodder in one corner, and a disconsolate dog or two which, having been awakened from his sleep, was stealing off under the shadow of the walls to find a new resting-place.
On the four sides of the court-yard, doorways without doors yawned darkly at the intruders. In front of one of these doors the cattle-thieves dismounted, and while one remained outside to guard the prisoner, the other entered with the horses, which he hitched there and supplied with a feed of corn. When he came out again, he brought the saddles and blankets with him.