Don Estevan and he appeared motionless as a pair of statues. The unequal reflection of the fire gleamed upon these two men—whom chance had thus strangely united—neither of whom might yield to the other in pride or courage.
The moment was becoming critical. The two jaguars were about to find enemies worthy of them.
The fire, now burnt down, threw out only a pale light, scarce strong enough to illumine the group that stood near its edge.
At this moment an incident occurred which was likely to cause a change in the situation of affairs. In the midst of an interval of silence—in which the very stillness itself increased the apprehension of the travellers—was heard the long lugubrious whine of a prairie wolf. Melancholy as was this sound, it was sweet in comparison with the cries of the more formidable animals, the jaguars.
“The prairie wolf to howl in the presence of the tiger!” muttered the ex-herdsman. “Carramba! there’s something strange about that.”
“But I have heard it said,” rejoined Tiburcio, “that it is the habit of the prairie wolf to follow the jaguar when the latter is in search of prey?”
“That is true enough,” replied Benito, “but the wolf never howls so near the tiger, till after the tiger has taken his prey and is busy devouring it. Then his howl is a humble prayer for the other to leave him something.
“This is strange,” continued the vaquero, as the prairie wolf was heard to utter another long whine. “Hark! another!—yes—another prairie wolf and on the opposite side too!”
In fact, another plaintive whine, exactly resembling the first, both in strength and cadence, was heard from a point directly opposite.
“I repeat it,” said Benito, “prairie wolves would never dare to betray themselves thus. I am greatly mistaken if it be not creatures of a different species that make this howling, and who don’t care a straw for the jaguars.”