“To what?”
“To sending one of my squadrons along the route they took; with orders to follow it up, if need be, to the new-discovered mine; at all events, till it be ascertained what hinders our hearing from them.”
“That seems the best and only way,” returns Don Juliano. “But when do you propose your men to start?”
“Immediately—soon as they can be ready. For such an expedition, most of the way through a very wilderness, they will need supplies, however lightly equipped. But I will issue the order this moment. Cecilio,” to the aide-de-camp, “hasten down to the cuartel, and tell Major Garcia to come to me at once.”
The young officer, rising at the words and clapping on his shako, makes straight for the outer door. But before stepping over its threshold, he sees that which causes him to return instantly to the receiving-room, to the surprise of those he had left there.
“What is it?” demands the Colonel.
“Look there!”
He points out through the open window over the plaza in front of it. Springing from their seats and moving up to it, they perceive a young man on horseback advancing towards the house; his face pale, and with a wayworn look, his dress dust-stained, and otherwise out of order, the horse he bestrides steaming at the nostrils, froth clouted, and with palpitating flanks.
“Caramba!” exclaims Colonel Requeñes. “That’s young Tresillian, the son of Villanueva’s partner!”