“Ave Maria!” screamed Baraja, in anguish, “the tiger has a wife!”
“You speak true,” said Benito, “there are two of them, and they must be a male and female, since two male jaguars never hunt in company.”
“Carrai!” exclaimed Cuchillo, “may the devil take me if ever I passed a night in the company of such a man as this old herdsman. He would frighten the hair off one’s head if he could.”
“After all,” said Baraja, “I think there can’t be much danger, so long as we have got the horses between us and these terrible brutes.”
Unhappily, this chance of safety was not to exist much longer, for just then the jaguars recommenced their growling, both of them nearer than ever. The effect upon the horses was now exhibited in a complete estampeda,—for these animals, seeing they could no longer rely upon their masters for protection, preferred trusting to their heels, and one and all of them broke away in a wild gallop.
As this last chance of security was gone, the old vaquero, leaving the fire, approached the spot where Don Estevan and the Senator were seated, and thus addressed them:—
“Gentlemen,” said he, “prudence requires that you will not remain so far from the rest of us. As you perceive there is danger on both sides, it will be best that we should all keep close together, and as near the fire as possible.”
The affrighted look of the Senator offered a striking contrast to the countenance of Don Estevan, which still preserved its calm rigidity.
“It is good advice this faithful servant gives us,” said Tragaduros, rising to do as Benito had suggested.
“Come, Benito,” said Don Estevan, “these are nothing but hunter’s stories you have been telling, and you wish to frighten these novices? Is it not so?”