In a few seconds’ time the party had reached the breach in the wall. Cuchillo dismounted, and striking a light, pointed out to the others the traces left by Tiburcio. There could be seen some fragments freshly fallen from the wall, evidently detached by the feet of one passing over; but what was of more consequence, they were stained with drops of blood. This must have been Tiburcio’s.
“You see,” said the outlaw to Don Estevan, “that he must have passed this way. Ah! if I had only given him another inch or two. After all,” added he, speaking to himself, “it is better I didn’t. I shall be twenty onzas the richer that I didn’t settle with him then. Now,” continued he, once more raising his voice, “where can he have gone, unless to yonder fire in the woods?”
A little farther on in the direction of the forest, other spots of fresh blood were discovered upon the dry calcareous surface of the soil. This appeared to confirm the conjecture of the guide—that Tiburcio had proceeded towards the camp-fire.
“If your honour,” resumed Cuchillo, addressing himself to his chief, “will go forward in company with the Señor Diaz, you will reach a stream running upon your left. By following down its bank for some distance, you will come to a bridge constructed with three or four trunks of trees. It is the bridge of the Salto de Agua. Just before reaching it, your honour will see a thick wood on the right. Under cover of that you can remain, until we three have finished our affair and rejoin you. Afterwards we can overtake the domestics. I have ordered them forward, for the reason that such people should not be privy either to our designs or actions.”
In this arrangement Cuchillo exhibited the consummate skill of the practiced bandit. Don Estevan, without offering any opposition to his plan, rode off as directed, in company with Diaz; while the outlaw, with his two chosen acolytes turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the fire.
“The fire betokens a halt of travellers, beyond doubt,” remarked Diaz to Don Estevan; “but who these travellers can be is a thing that puzzles me.”
“Travellers like any others, I suppose,” rejoined the Spaniard, with an air of abstraction.
“No, that is not likely. Don Augustin Peña is known for his generous hospitality for twenty leagues around. It is not probable that these travellers should have halted so near his hacienda without knowing it. They must be strangers to the country I fancy, or if not, they have no good purpose in camping where they are.”
Pedro Diaz was making almost the same observations that had occurred to Tiburcio at an earlier hour of the night.
Meanwhile, Cuchillo, with his two comrades, advanced towards the edge of the forest. As soon as they had reached it the guide dismounted from his horse.