After an hour and a half of walking, he was so far down into the plain that Anselmo was almost merged in the tree clumps at its base. It seemed to be less than two miles to the tower. The track led through clumps of ilex into groves of timber, among which a brook ran. As he passed into the cover of the ilex, he looked back at the land from which he had come, at the foothills like an advanced guard and the mountains like an army of kings. On the track by which he had come, he saw horsemen coming in twos at a rather quick trot. “There are those soldiers who were at the station,” he thought. “They are coming this way, too. Can they be coming to join Don Manuel?”
Why should they not be? They were State troops, but in civil wars, troops sometimes pass from the State to its rebels. “They can’t be coming to attack him, anyway,” he thought, “for there aren’t a hundred of them, and Don Manuel has thousands, so they said. If Don Manuel be in the village there, they’ll meet their match.”
It came into his mind that if these men were coming to attack, or if Don Manuel, being at Anselmo, came out to attack them, his own position, between the two forces, would be perilous. He therefore hurried through the cover, and pastures beyond to a copse of Turkey-oak which hid all sight of Anselmo hill. As he went, he listened for some sound of Don Manuel’s army, the noise of many hoofs, the call of bugles, the shouting of orders, or even a shot from a picket. As he heard no such sounds he concluded that the army was not there. “Perhaps it has gone on to Santa Barbara,” he thought. “I may be just too late for it, through sleeping too long yesterday.”
Then he thought, “It is more likely that they are all in Anselmo town on the other side of the hill. And more likely still that they haven’t yet reached Anselmo. They’ve been coming a long way on very bad going; they’re bound to have crocked a lot of horses. That’s it, no doubt. I’ve got here before them. In which case, good Lord, those Reds behind me will probably take me prisoner. I’d better hide in this copse till they’ve gone on or shown their hand.”
He had not gone far into the copse of Turkey-oak, when he suddenly found that the further half of the copse was full of soldiers. His first thought was, “Here are the Whites,” but a clearer view showed him that they wore dusty reddish Meruel uniforms such as he had seen at the station at dawn.
“Meruel Reds,” he thought, “I wish I knew which side they are on.”
To hesitate would have looked suspicious: he walked boldly on.
“I shall jolly soon know which side they’re on,” he thought. “They’re Reds. I’ll bet my burial money.”
Those whom he saw were single mounted troopers, each holding three unmounted horses. All were craned forward on their horses’ necks intently watching something that was being done outside the copse towards Anselmo. Beyond these horseholders, some dismounted troopers with carbines at the ready were at the edge of the copse, also intently watching. Two officers who were there staring at Anselmo through glasses, caught sight of Hi. One of them challenged in Spanish and at once moved up to him, to ask who he was, and what he wanted there.
“I am English,” Hi answered, “I am going to Anselmo.”