“The güero!” muttered the mulatto; “be sure, boy Pepe.”
“Trust you for a guess, brother Man’l: you were right about the tracks we first fell in with. The cave’s his hiding-place to a certainty. We’ll have him sure when he comes back. Carrai! yonder he comes!”
As the zambo spake, a tall dark form was perceived approaching down the ravine. By the moon gleaming upon it, they could make out the figure of a horse and rider. They had no longer any doubt it was their intended victim.
“Brother Man’l,” whispered the zambo, “suppose he passes near! why not bring down the horse? you can’t miss in this fine light—both of us can aim at the horse; if we stop him we’ll easily overtake the güero.”
“Won’t do, boy Pepe—not easily overtake güero afoot. Get off among rocks—hide for days—can’t track him afoot—be on his guard after—give us trouble—old plan best—let pass—have him safe when he come back—have him sure.”
“But Man’l—”
“Dam! no need for buts—always in a hurry, boy Pepe—have patience—no buts, no fear. See, now!”
This last exclamation was intended to point out to Pepe that his suggestion, even though a wise one, could not have been carried out, as the horseman was not going to pass within range of either rifle or escopeta.
It was plain he was heading down the middle of the cañon, keeping equally distant from the sides, and this course would carry him out into the open plain two hundred yards from the ambush of the hunters.
So did it, for in a few moments he was opposite the spot where they lay, and at full that distance from them. A shot from a hunter’s rifle would not have reached him, and the bullet of an escopeta would have been an uncertain messenger. Neither thought of firing, but lay in perfect silence, firmly holding their dogs down in the crevice of the rocks, and by gestures enjoining them to be still.