“Yes,” replied the latter, “what of it?”
“It is the camp-fire of some travellers; and in all probability the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, with a hideous smile, “we are going to give chase to a wild colt—which will be better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild horses—and here are the three hunters.”
As the outlaw said this, he pointed with his whip, first to himself, and then to his two comrades, Oroche and Baraja.
“They have both espoused our quarrel,” he added.
“From what motive?” inquired the Spaniard.
“That motive which the hound has in taking the part of the hunter against the stag,” answered the outlaw, with a significant smile; “they only follow their instincts, and they are two animals with formidable teeth.”
At this moment the moon shone out, and gleaming upon the carbines and knives of the two adventurers, seemed to confirm the assertion of Cuchillo. But the light proved disadvantageous to Baraja and Oroche, for it enabled Don Estevan to perceive that they were far from steady in their seats.
“Why, these fellows are drunk!” cried he, turning upon the guide a look of furious reproach. “Are these the assistants you count upon?”
“True, your honour,” replied Cuchillo, “they are not exactly sober; but I hope soon to cure them. I know of a remedy that will set them all right in five minutes. It is the fruit of the jocuistle, which grows abundantly in these parts. I shall find it as soon as we have reached the woods.”
Don Estevan was forced to swallow his chagrin in silence. It was not the time for vain recriminations; and above all, Tiburcio had first to be found, before the services of either of the inebriated gentlemen would be called into requisition.