“Yes,” replied the outlaw, “I lost my way, deceived by the monotony of these endless plains where each hillock resembles the other.”
“What!” cried Diaz, ironically. “Had a dweller in cities been so deceived it might be believed; but you—fear must have thrown a mist before your eyes!”
“Fear!” replied Cuchillo; “I know it no more than you do.”
“Then you must be growing shortsighted, Señor Cuchillo.”
“However it happened, I lost myself; and, but for the column of smoke, I should not have regained my way so quickly. I was, however, forced to make a circuit on perceiving a party of Indians, and only owe the start I have got upon them to the speed of my good horse.”
As he spoke, Don Estevan frowned more than once. Oroche left the tent, but immediately re-entering, said—
“The Indians are there! Look at those black shadows on the plain over which the moon throws a distant light; those are men sent to reconnoitre our encampment.”
Over the sand of the desert they could indeed see men on horseback advancing, and then disappearing in the shadows of the sand heaps.
Pedro Diaz consulted an instant with Don Estevan, and then cried loudly—
“Light the fires everywhere! we must count our enemies.”