And with this the conversation was discontinued.
Cuchillo, joyed at being disembarrassed of his apprehension about the secret, began carelessly whistling while he spurred forward his horse. The greatest harmony continued between these two men, who, though they knew it not, had each a motive of the deadliest hatred one against the other. Suddenly, as they were thus riding along, the horse that carried them stumbled upon the left fore-leg, and almost came to the ground. On the instant Tiburcio leaped down, and with eyes flashing fire, cried out in a threatening tone to his astonished companion.
“You say you have never been beyond Tubac? where did you get this horse, Cuchillo?”
“What business of yours, where I got him?” answered the outlaw, surprised by a question to which his conscience gave an alarming significance, “and what has my horse to do with the interrogatory you have so discourteously put to me?”
“By the soul of Arellanos! I will know; or, if not—”
Cuchillo gave the spur to his horse, causing him to bound to one side—while at the same time he attempted to unbuckle the straps that fastened his carbine to the saddle; but Tiburcio sprang after, seized his hand, and held it while he repeated the question:—
“How long have you owned this horse?”
“There, now! what curiosity!” answered Cuchillo, with a forced smile, “still, since you are so eager to know—it is—it is about six weeks since I became his master; you may have seen me with him, perhaps?”
In truth it was the first time Tiburcio had seen Cuchillo with this horse—that, notwithstanding his bad habits of stumbling, was otherwise an excellent animal, and was only used by his master on grand occasions. For this very reason Tiburcio had not seen him before.
The ready lie of the outlaw dissipated, no doubt, certain suspicions that had arisen in the mind of the young man, for the latter let go the horseman’s wrist, which up to this time he had held in his firm grasp.