“No! I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. Besides, it would cost too much time. Trust me, I will not be rash. I have a plan by which I hope to get near him—to see him, at all events. If it fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the present. None of the wretches shall know my real errand. Afterwards I may do as you advise, but now I cannot wait. I must on to the work. I believe it is he that is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait, Don Juan. If it be me—”
“But what shall we do?” asked Don Juan. “Can we not assist in any way?”
“Yes, perhaps in my escape. Come on, I shall place you. Come on quickly. Moments are days. My brain’s on fire. Come on!”
So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down the precipitous path that led to the valley.
From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of low trees and bushes forming a “chapparal,” difficult to pass through, except by following the road itself.
But there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it might be traversed; and these were known to Antonio the half-blood, who had formerly lived in this neighbourhood. By one of those a party of mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the Presidio without attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. To this point, then, Antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of Carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover of the bushes.
“Now,” said the cibolero, speaking to Don Juan, “remain here. If I escape, I shall gallop direct to this point. If I lose my horse, you shall see me afoot all the same. For such a short stretch I can run like a deer: I shall not be overtaken. When I return I shall tell you how to act.
“See! Don Juan!” he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal. “It is he! by Heaven, it is he!”
Carlos pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, where the head and shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet.
“It is the Comandante himself!” said Don Juan, also recognising him.