Don Carlos replied evasively. Perhaps Robledo and the comisario would get there soon, but then again they might take hours....
“And I wasn’t going to wait for them,” don Carlos wound up. “Bunch of slow-pokes. No knowing when they’ll get here. I got tired waiting and so I came alone.”
Then he went on to explain that while he was riding as fast as he could towards Manos Duras’s ranch, without stopping to go back to his own, he had seen a rider coming rapidly towards him. He had drawn his revolver in order to stop him, but there was something about the rider’s appearance, that made him determine not to shoot.
“He looked like a monkey on a horse. Cachafaz it was! Then he told me that you were here and showed me your note. I told him to ride ahead and tell the others so that they shouldn’t lose more time going to my place. So he’ll show them the way out here.... But what has happened?”
They walked along among the matorral roots, following the path made by Watson, Rojas leading his horse. He tethered him at the bottom of the sand-hill, and then, on hands and knees, followed Watson up the slope from the top of which they could look down on Dead Squaw ranch.
As they peered through the openings in the bushes they saw Piola still sitting on the ground, just as before, but he was alone. Manos Duras had disappeared.
The fellow was smoking and looking about uneasily, as though instinctively, with the sharp senses of the desert dweller, he had become aware of the hidden enemy. Every now and then he stretched his neck and stared into the distance as though expecting a new arrival.
“Let’s attack!” whispered don Carlos.
It apparently was a small matter to him that the mountaineer held his gun in front of him ready to aim. Rojas and Watson had no arms but their revolvers.
“Don’t forget there’s another one somewhere about,” said Watson.