“Suarez and Pacheco will never return,” continued Pepe, in answer to the conjectures of his comrades. “It is as good as certain that this Colonel of Beelzebub has settled the affair with both—just as he did with poor Panchito Jolas; and since we have searched all night without finding any trace—”
“We explored our route with the greatest care!” interrupted one of the beaters who had exhibited the greatest dread of encountering the Colonel.
“We have done the same,” added Pepe Lobos. “Ask my partner there. Although his trace has escaped our observation, it is evident the Royalist is somewhere in this wood—else what has become of Suarez and Pacheco? Yes, he is in it yet, be assured; and my advice is that we go back to the place where he left the main road, and follow the track of his horse from there. That will be the more likely plan to bring us to the place where he is at this minute.”
The other seven gave in their consent to this plan, and it was resolved that it should be carried into execution.
“As for the reward of five hundred dollars,” continued Pepe Lobos, “that’s all very well. But I say vengeance before everything; and we will do better to kill this fierce devil at once. A fig for the bounty, say I!”
“Perhaps the Captain will pay one half, if we bring him in dead?” suggested one of the insurgents.
“When we have ascertained exactly where he is hid,” continued Pepe, without heeding the suggestion, “we can then separate into two parties of four each. One can approach from one side, and the other party in the opposite direction. We shall thus have him between us; and let whoever sets eye on him fire at him as at a mad dog. That is the only way to make sure; besides, if he should be only wounded and we can carry him to camp with a little life in him, we shall still be entitled to the reward.”
The counsel of Pepe Lobos met with a universal approbation; and it was finally resolved that as soon as day had fairly broken, they should all return to the main road and recommence the search.
Just as the sun commenced gilding the lofty summits of the palm-trees, the eight guerilleros scattered themselves along the road to examine the hoof tracks, and if possible discover the point at which Don Rafael had turned off into the woods. This was by no means so easily accomplished: for the ground was now trodden by their own horses in such a fashion that it seemed impossible to distinguish which of the trails was that of the Royalist dragoon. A native of Europe would have examined them in vain; but to a vaquero of Mexico, a gaucho of Chili, or in fact a native peasant of any part of Spanish-America, it was simply a work of time and patience. In fact, scarce ten minutes had passed, before Pepe Lobos called to his comrades to announce that he had discovered the track they were in search of.
Besides the hoof-prints of a horse, a twig broken from the branch of a tree, and some fresh leaves of sassafras laurel lying upon the ground, showed clearly the place where Don Rafael had passed through the underwood.