“What tribe?” simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; “what tribe?—Were they not Yutas?”
“No,” answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion of his questioners.
“Who, then?”
“I believe,” replied Carlos, “they were not Yutas—more likely my sworn foes, the Jicarillas.”
“Quite possible!” assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at the enunciation.
“Quite possible!” repeated Roblado. “From the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the Yutas. It may be a mistake, however. The people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about them. Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night.”
“Why think you they are the Jicarillas?” asked the Comandante, once more breathing freely.
“Partly because there were so few of them,” replied Carlos. “Had they been Yutas—”
“But they were not so few. The shepherds report a large band. They have carried off immense numbers of cattle. There must have been a considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the valley—that is certain.”
“I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. A small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their booty.”