Had Cibolo gone that way before?
Carlos dismounted to examine the tracks.
“Four horses and one mule!” he said, speaking to Don Juan. “Two of the horses shod on the fore feet only; the other two, with the mule, barefoot. All of them mounted—the mule led—perhaps with a pack.
“No!” he added, after a little further examination, “it’s not a pack-mule!”
It scarce cost the cibolero five minutes to arrive at these conclusions. How he did so was a mystery to most of his companions,—perhaps to all, except the half-blood, Antonio. And yet he was right in every particular.
He continued to scrutinise the new trail for some moments longer.
“The time corresponds,” said he, still addressing Don Juan. “They passed yesterday morning before the dew was dry. You are sure it was not midnight when they left your house?”
“Quite sure,” replied the ranchero. “It was still only midnight when I returned with your mother from the rancho. I am quite sure of that.”
“One more question, Don Juan: How many Indians, think you, were in the party that made their appearance at your house—few or many?”
“Not many I think. Two or three only could be heard yelling at once; but the trees prevented us from seeing them. I fancy, from their traces left, that the band was a very small one. It might be the same that burned the rancho. They could have arrived at my house afterwards. There was time enough.”