In little over twenty minutes the column had started, leaving only five sick men in the stockade. So far as the latter was concerned, Basil trusted to Felizardo’s word. He could not spare enough men to defend it, so he decided, very wisely, to leave it undefended.
They wasted no time on the road, and before sundown they were across the pass, where they found a solitary boloman seated on a large rock, apparently awaiting them.
“I am the guide,” he said briefly. “There is a short cut. The ladrones passed down two hours ago.”
Most men would have called Basil Hayle a rash fool when he nodded and said: “Very well. Lead on;” but it was a question of taking risks, or of allowing the promise to Juan Vagas to be kept.
They halted once, and once only, during the night, and then it was at the suggestion of the guide. “We shall be in time,” he said; “the soldiers might rest a little.”
The men threw themselves down, and smoked and chattered in undertones about the great killing they were going to do; but Captain Basil Hayle stalked up and down, chewing fiercely on the end of his cigar.
After a while, the guide spoke again. “We should be going now. One thing first, though. Tell your soldiers that the ladrones all have rifles, and are dressed in blue, like Felizardo’s men usually are. Possibly, however, there will be bolomen dressed in white come out of the jungle to help you. Tell your men, so that they will know.”
The little soldiers grinned, understanding who those bolomen would be. “He, the old chief, might be there himself,” they whispered to one another. “Who knows? We might even see him.”
Half a mile from Igut, the guide brought them back into the main road. “They have passed already,” he said, pointing to the spoor.
They went on very cautiously then, for there was just the faintest hint of dawn in the east, and they knew it was only a question of a few minutes before the attack would begin; in fact, had the patriots been bolomen, it would have begun already, but it is different when you have rifles.