“The truth is,” said he, as he finished telling me his story, “I returned to the place where I lost my ears, with the insane hope that I might meet the Mexicans. After having a look at the place, I recovered my senses once more, enough to direct me towards the only object for which I now care to live and that is, revenge. I’m not in so much haste for it now, as I was an hour ago. There’s plenty of time. I’m young, and will find them sometime. Come on! Come on! How slow you walk!”
We were then going at a pace that might be called running.
On reaching our tents, we learnt that Guinane had actually taken the wrong mule! The miner from whom he had borrowed it, had not thought it necessary to describe its brands. Not supposing there was another mule in the neighbourhood, in any way resembling his own, he had not imagined there could be any mistake.
From some diggers, we learnt that the Mexicans we wished to find, had encamped for the night—near the place where Guinane had caught the mule; and it was not strange they had accused him of having stolen it. On recovering the animal, in the manner described, they had returned to their camp, and shortly afterwards had resumed their journey. By making some inquiries, we found that they had gone southward.
As they had no mining tools along with them, we came to the conclusion, that they were on their way home—into some of the northern provinces of Mexico. If so, we might easily overtake them, before they could pass out of California.
We lost no time in making preparations for the pursuit—the most important part of which was the providing ourselves with good horses. In due time, this difficulty was got over, although my bag of gold dust was much lighter, after the purchase of the horses had been completed.
By daybreak of the next morning, we were ready for the road. Guinane kept urging me to expedition—in pursuit of those who had awakened within his soul a thirst for vengeance, that blood alone could assuage!