“Carambo, tio, take a drop of this; it will warm you up and banish all such idle fancies,” as he handed the old man a bottle of wine from the cupboard against the wall.
“Not so idle as you think, perhaps; but we will see.”
Early the next day the two men rode out from the little timber belt, and set out rapidly upon their journey. They were well mounted and thoroughly armed, as indeed they needed to be, for the country then was not the most peaceful or safe to traverse. They determined to divide the journey into three days’ ride, as neither of them was very strong.
Nothing occurred till the third day of any consequence. They had halted at about eleven o’clock, to lie by during the heat of the day, under a few small trees that grew beside a spring, bubbling forth from beneath a pile of sandstone. They kindled a fire to boil their chocolate, and, not fearing any danger, were not particular as to whether they burned perfectly dry or damp wood. In consequence, the smoke, thick and dark, arose in a considerable column above the tree tops before the fire was fairly started.
It caught the eye of a single horseman, who was riding along upon the opposite side of the rocks, and, after eyeing it curiously for a few moments, he slowly advanced in its direction. Then securing his horse in a small ravine, he unslung his escopette, and proceeded to investigate the cause.
But of this our two friends were, of course, unaware. They little suspected that the hunter of blood was so near. Had a zopilate, that dusky scavenger of Mexico, been sailing overhead, he would have seen this picture:
The green clump of trees, shadowing the little rill of water that ran from the sparkling, bubbling spring; the fire lighted and now bursting into a bright, roaring blaze, with the forms of two men bending over it, while their horses eagerly cropped the rich grass that grew hard by. On the opposite side of the gray rocks he would have seen the dark form of a man rapidly gliding along with trailed rifle, crouching half way to the ground, until he had to bend his long arms to keep them from dragging. This he would have seen, and more. Two horsemen swiftly approaching the spring upon nearly the same trail as that followed by Marcos Sayosa and Tomas Ventura, and consequently closed out from the view of the solitary stalker.
His instincts would have told him that there was a fair prospect of his dinner being afforded him, and he would have hovered over the spot.
The two men were sitting near the fire, engaged in conversation, when one of the horses stamped his hoof and pricked up his ears, as though he scented something suspicious. This did not escape the watchful eye of Ventura, and, as he followed the direction indicated by the tremulous ears of his horse, he saw a shaggy head rise from behind a boulder, and then the bright barrel of a gun as it was leveled toward them.
“Look out, Marcos, there’s some deviltry going on!” he shouted out, leaping forward and pulling the young miner backward to the ground.