As they were about to part, Silencio called after his friend:
"I will send you word as soon as I receive the news myself. You will come at once, eh, Beltran?"
Don Beltran paused in mounting the grey, and turned his head to look at his friend. Silencio's fingers were nervously opening and closing around one of the fence palings.
"For myself I should not care; that you know, Beltran; but for her, it would kill me to have her fall into his hands again. It would be death to me to lose her. She will die if she thinks that she can be taken from me, and by that villain. Do you know what they meant to do with her, Beltran? They meant—they meant—"
Silencio's voice sank to a whisper. His face had become white, his lips bloodless. His eyes seemed to sink back in his head and emit sparks of fire. In the compression of the mouth Beltran saw the determination of certain death for Escobeda should he come within range of Silencio's weapon.
Beltran was in the saddle now. He turned and surveyed his friend with some anxiety.
"Be careful, Gil," he said; "don't come within reach of the villain. Discretion is much the better part in this matter. Keep yourself under cover. They will pick you off, those rascals. Send for me the night before you know that he is coming, and I will ride over with ten of my men. We can garrison at your house?"
"I shall make ready for you," said Silencio. "My only fear is that I shall not have warning enough."