On reaching the summit they again see them, though so far off as to be barely visible—black specks against the blue canopy of the sky. Still near enough to show a large number circling about over some object that appears stationary.
This last observation seems satisfactory to the Tenawa chief, who, turning to his fellow-freebooter, shouts out,—
“Nothing to fear. Don’t you remember, Barbato, one of our horses gave out there, and was left? It’s over him the zopilotés are swooping. He’s not dead yet; that’s why they don’t go down.”
“It may be,” rejoins the renegade. “Still I don’t like the look of it. Over a dead horse they’d hardly soar so high. True, they keep in one place. If it were Texans pursuing us they’d be moving onward—coming nearer and nearer. They’re not. It must be, as you say, the horse. I don’t think the people of the settlement we struck would be strong enough to come after us—at least not so soon. They may in time, after they’ve got up a gathering of their Rangers. That isn’t likely to be till we’ve got safe beyond their reach. They won’t gain much by a march to the Witchita mountains. Por cierte! the zopilotés out yonder are over something; but, as they’re not moving on, most likely it’s the horse.”
Again the Horned Lizard gives a grunt, expressing satisfaction; after which the two scramble back down the cliff, to seek that repose which fighting and forced marching make necessary to man, be he savage or civilised.
Chapter Thirty One.
Pursuers on the Path.
Despite common belief, the instinct of the Indian is not always sure, nor his intellect unerring. An instance of the contrary is afforded by the behaviour of the Tenawa chief and his subordinate Barbato.