Chafing, he strides forth from the tent, and proceeds towards the place where the look-out has been stationed. Reaching it, he reconnoitres for himself, with a telescope he has taken along, to get a better view down the valley.
At first, levelling the glass, no one can be seen. In the reach of open ground, dotted here and there with groves, there are deer browsing, and a grizzly bear is seen crossing between the cliffs, but no shape that resembles a human being.
He is about lowering the telescope when a new form comes into its field of view—a horseman riding up the creek. No the animal is a mule. No matter the rider is a man.
Keenly scrutinising, he perceives it is an Indian, though not one of the wild sort. His garb betokens him of the tamed.
Another glance through the glass and his individuality declares itself, Uraga recognising him as one of the messengers sent to the Tenawas’ town. Not the principal, Pedrillo, but he of secondary importance, José.
“Returning alone!” mutters the Mexican to himself. “What does that mean? Where can Pedrillo be? What keeps him behind, I wonder?”
He continues wondering and conjecturing till José has ridden up to the spot, when, perceiving his master, the latter dismounts and approaches him.
In the messenger’s countenance there is an expression of disappointment, and something more. It tells a tale of woe, with reluctance to disclose it.
“Where is Pedrillo?” is the first question asked in anxious impatience.
“Oh, señor coronel!” replies José, hat in hand, and trembling in every joint. “Pedrillo! Pobre Pedrillito!”