“Where?”
“To the north-east—a long way off.”
“But if it was a smoke, what would that signify?”
“In this part of the world, much. It might mean danger; ay, death.”
“You astonish—mystify me, Señor Vicente. How could it mean that?”
“There’s no mystery in it, muchacho. Where smoke is seen there should be fire; and a fire on these llanos is likely to be one with Indians around it. Now do you understand the danger I’m thinking of?”
“I do. But I thought there were no Indians in this part of the country, except the Opatas; and they are Christianised, dwelling in towns.”
“True, all that. But the Opata towns are far from here, and in an entirely different direction—the very opposite. If smoke it was, the fire that made it wasn’t one kindled by Opatas, but men who only resemble them in the colour of their skin—Indians, too.”
“What Indians do you suspect?”
“Los Apaches.”