“Santos Dios!” he exclaimed; “just as I expected. Look yonder, Señor!”
Kearney looked, to see a stream pouring out from the castle gates and running down the steep causeway which zig-zags to the bottom of the hill. A stream of men in uniform, by their square crowned shakos and other insignia, recognisable as Lancers. They had neither weapons nor horses with them; but both, as Rivas knew, would be at the Cuartel and stables below. He also knew that the Lanzeros were trained soldiers—a petted arm of the service—and it would not take them long to “boot and saddle.”
More than ever was his look troubled now, still not despairing. He had his hopes and plans.
“Drop your file, Señor,” he said hurriedly; “no time to finish that now. We must wait for a better opportunity. And we’ll have to leave the carriage behind; but not just yet.”
By this they had arrived at the embouchure of the branch road coming out from Cayocaon, into which by his direction the horses were headed, going on without stop or slackening of speed. And so for nearly another mile; then he called out to those on the box to bring up.
Rock, anticipating something of the sort, instantly reined in, and the carriage came to a stand. At which the two inside sprang out upon the road, Kearney calling to the Texan—
“Drop the reins, Cris! Down; unhitch the horses. Quick!”
And quick came he down, jerking the dwarf after, who fell upon all fours; as he recovered his feet, looking as if he had lost his senses. No one heeded him or his looks; the hurry was too great even to stay for unbuckling.
“Cut everything off!” cried Kearney, still speaking to Rock. “Leave on only the bridles.”
With the knife late put into his hands the Texan went to work, Kearney himself plying the other, while Rivas held the horses and unhooked the bearing reins.