“Enough! I have no time for more talk,” cried the cibolero. “Now or never! If I return, you shall know what to do. If not, I am taken or killed. But stay here. Stay till late in the night; I may still escape. Their prisons are not too strong; besides, I carry this gold. It may help me. No more. Adios! true friend, adios!”
With a grasp of the ranchero’s hand, Carlos leaped back to his saddle, and rode off.
He did not go in the direction of the Presidio, as that would have discovered him too soon. But a path that led through the chapparal would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and this path he took. Antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and then returned to the rest.
Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio. The dog Cibolo followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse.
Chapter Thirty Three.
“By the Virgin, it is he!” exclaimed Roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. “The fellow himself, as I live!”
“I knew it!—I knew it!” shrieked Vizcarra. “I saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!”
“Where can he have come from? In the name of all the saints, where has the fellow—”