“No, master.”
“And where are all the folks?”
“Can’t guess, master! Strange we don’t see some!”
“So I was thinking. You don’t suppose there have been wild Indians in the neighbourhood?”
“No, master—mira! They’re the tracks of the ‘lanzeros’—only an hour ago. No Indians where they are!”
As Antonio said this, both his accent and look had an expression which guided his master to the true meaning of his words, which might otherwise have been ambiguous. He did not mean that the fact of the lancers having been on the ground would prevent the Indians from occupying it, but exactly the reverse. It was, not “lancers no Indians,” but “Indians no lancers,” that Antonio meant.
Carlos understood him; and, as this had been his own interpretation of the tracks, he burst out into a fit of laughter.
Still no travellers appeared, and Carlos did not like it. As yet he had not thought of any misfortune to those he loved; but the unpeopled road had an air of loneliness about it, and did not seem to welcome him.
As he passed on a feeling of sadness came stealing over him, which after it had fairly taken possession he could not get rid of.
He had not yet passed a settlement. There were none before reaching his own rancho, which, as already stated, was the lowest in the valley. Still the inhabitants fed their flocks far below that; and it was usual, at such an hour, to see them driving their cattle home. He neither saw cattle nor vaqueros.