As he emerged from the ravine, the dog, as stated, made a demonstration, by suddenly turning toward the rocks, and uttering a low growl. This caused Carlos to halt, and look carefully in that direction. But he could see nothing that appeared suspicious; and the dog, after a moment’s pause, appeared satisfied and trotted on again.
“Some wild animal, perhaps,” thought Carlos, as he set his horse in motion, and continued on over the plain.
When fairly out into the open ground, he quickened his pace; and after a ride of about six or seven miles arrived on the banks of the Pecos. Here he turned down-stream, and, once more riding with caution, approached a grove of low timber that grew upon the bank. This grove was the point of rendezvous.
When within a hundred yards of it, the cibolero halted upon the plain. The dog ran on before him, quartered the grove, and then returned to his master. The horseman then rode boldly in under the shadow of the trees, and, dismounting, took station upon one side of the timber, to watch for the coming of his expected messenger.
His vigil was not of long duration. In a few minutes a man on foot, bent into a crouching attitude, was seen rapidly advancing over the plain. When he had arrived within three hundred yards of the grove, he stopped in his tracks, and uttered a low whistle. To this signal the cibolero replied, and the man, again advancing as before, was soon within the shadow of the grove. It was Antonio.
“Were you followed, amigo?” asked Carlos.
“As usual, master; but I had no difficulty in throwing them off.”
“Hereafter it may not be so easy.”
“How, master?”
“I know your news—the yellow hunter has got back?”