“If it were a human voice,” asked Fabian, “where did it come from? it seemed to be above us, and yet I see no one on the top of the hill!”
“God send,” said Pepé, crossing himself, “that in these mountains which abound in inexplicable noises, and where lightning shines under a calm sky, we have only men to fight against! But if the fog contained a legion of devils—if the valley really contains, as you say, several years’ income of the king of Spain, please, Señor Don Fabian, to recall your recollections, and tell us if we are still far off it.”
Fabian threw a glance around him; the landscape was just what had been so minutely described to him.
“We must be close to the spot,” said he, “for it should be at the foot of the tomb of the Indian chief—and these ornaments indicate that the rock is the tomb. We have no time to lose. You and Bois-Rose walk around the rock, while I go and examine those cotton-trees and willows.”
“I am suspicious of everything in this mysterious place,” said Bois-Rose; “that cry indicates the presence of a human being; and whether white or red, he is to be feared. Before we separate, let me examine the sign.”
All three bent on the ground eyes accustomed to read there as in an open book. The prints of a man’s feet were visible on the sand, and one of them had trodden down the plants, whose stems were still gently rising up again one after the other.
“What did I tell you?” cried Bois-Rose. “Here are the tracks of a white man’s feet, and I swear it is not ten minutes since he was here. These footmarks lead towards yonder cotton-trees.”
“In any case he is alone,” suggested Fabian.
All three were advancing towards the trees, when Bois-Rose halted.
“Let me go first,” said he; “this hedge may hide the enemy. But no, the man who has left these footprints has only pulled open the vines and glanced through—he has not gone further in that direction.”