Long before noon, Robbins secretly informed me we were being pursued.
Somehow, I was not much surprised—nothing appeared to strike me as singular nowadays. I understood that fate meant to make one more grand bluff at snatching happiness from my arms, and, if defeated this time, would be apt to give up in disgust.
All I did was to grimly set my teeth together and look down the wild mountain in the quarter whence we had come.
Robbins presently pointed out our pursuers.
They were a grand squad, and unless my eyesight deceived me old Gen. Toreado was at the head.
Strange, how vindictive the old chap was; instead of hunting Salvador, who had been president before the coup, and must be chasing hot-footed for the border at this hour, here he was, speeding after me, the man who laid down the reins of government only too willingly when news came that Toreado the Magnificent had not been killed after all, only stunned.
“How many?” asked Robbins.
“Not far from a dozen, all told.”
“Pretty big odds, if they catch us. We’ve got a good start—let ’em come,” said he.
We joined the others, who were ahead.