In a minute, indeed, they recognised Cuchillo himself.
“To arms! to arms!” cried the guide, “here are the Indians,” and he rushed precipitately through the opening made for him by the sentinels.
“Cuchillo! the Indians! both names of bad augury,” said Don Estevan, as he turned towards his companion.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
The Attack.
At the cry of Cuchillo, which resounded throughout the camp, the Spaniard and Diaz exchanged looks of intelligence.
“It is strange that the Indians should have found our trail again?” said Don Estevan, interrogatively.
“Very strange,” replied Diaz, and without saying another word, both descended from the eminence, on which they stood.