It was afternoon, and the valley and mountains were glowing and glittering in the ardent sun-rays, although within the bower of foliage where the guerillas had established themselves, all was cool and dark, when the Mochuelo awakened Herrera. With a vague fear of having slept too long, Luis started to his feet.
"Is it time to move?" he hurriedly demanded.
"Hush!" said the guerilla. "Come with me."
One of the Mochuelo's men stood by: he led the way to that lofty part of the platform whence a view of the defile was commanded. On approaching it, the two guerillas threw themselves on their hands and knees, and making signs to Herrera to imitate them, crept forward till they gained the bushes fringing the precipice. Through these a small party of cavalry was visible, riding along the mountain pass. By aid of his field-glass, Herrera was enabled to distinguish almost the features of the men. At the head of the detachment rode an officer, whose figure and general appearance he thought he recognized. A second glance confirmed his first impression. The leader of the troop was Baltasar de Villabuena.
Utterly bewildered by what he saw, Herrera turned to the Mochuelo.
"What are they?" he demanded, "and whither going?"
"You see what they are," answered the partisan. "Carlist lancers. They are going, I fear, to the convent."
"How, to the convent? Does that road lead to it?"
"It does. At some distance up this valley the mountains sink, and there is a track over them practicable for horsemen; the same which we shall follow. When they reach the other side of the mountain they are within ten minutes' ride of the convent."
Herrera remained for a moment as if petrified by what he heard.