“Why, I thought,” said Ignacio, with a look of surprise, “that Conrad of the Mountains was an outlaw like yourselves.”
“Not he. He’s a spy, and he’ll meet a spy’s doom, if he has not met it already.”
“Come—I’ll go and see this Conrad,” said Ignacio, “I should like to see a spy get his deserts.”
He turned quickly and hurried away, followed by the outlaw.
“Most awrful!” groaned Quashy, when they were gone.
“Awful indeed, to think that Manuela and her father are in the hands of such villains!” returned Lawrence.
“An’ Sooz’n,” said Quashy, with a deeper groan.
“But, massa, what’s come ober de ole hunter? He not in arnest, ob course.”
“Of course not,” replied Lawrence, “that is our one ray of hope now. He is only acting a part. He will assuredly help us, and means us to help him, but he takes a strange way to do it.”
He ceased to speak, for at that moment a man was seen approaching. He moved about like one who was searching for something. At last he caught sight of the bound men, and ran towards them, drawing his knife as he did so. For one instant a feeling of horror shot through the hearts of Lawrence and Quashy, but next moment they were relieved, for they recognised in the approaching man the features of their old acquaintance of the Andes, the robber Antonio.