The Fugitives in Danger.
El Zapote and his confrère, the messenger, after making a wide détour through the forest, came out on the Huajapam road. Their intention was to journey on to Huajapam—where they supposed the royalist army still held the place in siege, and where they expected to find Colonel Tres-Villas, to whom the messenger had been sent. Little did either the ex-guerillero or his companion suspect that it was the colonel himself from whom they had just parted.
“By my faith!” remarked the messenger, as they journeyed along, “it’s a pity now that we did not ask that gentleman his name. It is likely enough that he is some grand officer belonging to the royalist army.”
“Bah!” replied Zapote. “What good would it be to us to know his name? He’s a lost man, I fear. It matters little, therefore, what name he carries.”
“Quien sabe?” doubtingly rejoined the messenger.
“I am more vexed,” continued Zapote, “that we were not able to do anything for him. It can’t be helped, however; and just now, let me tell you, my brave Gaspar, that we have got to look out for ourselves. We are yet far from being out of danger.”
The two men pursued their route, gliding silently and cautiously under the shadow of the underwood.
Scarce ten minutes had elapsed when they again heard the voices of those who were beating the wood in search of the hiding-place of Don Rafael. Both stepped behind a screen of bushes and listened. In the midst of a profound silence, they heard the crackling of branches; and the moment after a man appeared at a short distance from where they stood. He was advancing with stealthy step, carbine in hand, and almost at the same instant two others made their appearance, coming up behind him, and moving forward with like caution.
All three were stealthily gliding from tree to tree—making a temporary rampart of the trunks, as they reconnoitred the ground before them.
One of these men was recognised by Zapote as an old comrade.