The peon is unable to answer it. He does not think they are prisoners—certainly not Conchita. She is only being taken back along with her mistress. About the senorita, his mistress, he heard some words pass between Uraga and Roblez, but without comprehending their signification.
In his own heart Hamersley can supply it—does so with dark, dire misgivings.
Chapter Fifty Six.
“The Norte.”
Westward, across the Liana Estacado, Uraga and his lancers continue on their return march. The troop, going by twos, is again drawn out in an elongated line, the arms and accoutrements of the soldiers glancing in the sun, while the breeze floats back the pennons of their lances. The men prisoners are a few files from the rear, a file on each flank guarding them. The women are at the head, alongside the guide and sub-lieutenant, who has charge of the troop.
For reasons of his own the lancer colonel does not intrude his company on the captives. He intends doing so in his own time. It has not yet come. Nor does he take any part in directing the march of the men. That duty has been entrusted to the alferez; he and Roblez riding several hundred paces in advance of the troop.
He has thus isolated himself for the purpose of holding conversation with his adjutant, unembarrassed by any apprehension of being overheard.
“Well, ayadante,” he begins, as soon as they are safe beyond earshot, “what’s your opinion of things now?”