Here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and endeavoured to look taller.
“If they were Jicarillas,” continued Carlos, “I should not need to follow their trail. They are not in the direction of the Llano. If they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit. I know where they are at this moment—in the mountains.”
“Ha! you think they are in the mountains?”
“I am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here. If your excellency would but send a troop, I could guide it direct to the spot, and without following the trail they have taken out of the valley—which I believe was only a false one.”
The Comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone.
“It would look well,” muttered Roblado; “in fact, the very thing you want. The trump cards seem to drop right into your hands. You send a force at the request of this fellow, who is a nobody here. You do him a service, and yourself at the same time. It will tell well, I warrant you.”
“But for him to act as guide?”
“Let him! So much the better—that will satisfy all parties. He won’t find his Jicarillas,—ha! ha ha!—of course; but let the fool have his whim!”
“But suppose, camarado, he falls upon our trail?—the cattle?”
“He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not going that way—he don’t intend to follow a trail. He knows some nest of these Jicarillas in the mountains,—like enough; and to rout them—there’s a bit of glory for some one. A few scalps would look well over the gate. It hasn’t had a fresh ornament of that sort since we’ve been here! What say you? It’s but a fifty-mile ride.”