“And the gringo too?” inquired Piola ironically. “You have an answer to everything!”
The gaucho from the Andes moved uneasily as though instinctively he felt the proximity of danger. He could not believe that those two men had come alone. Others must be close at hand to lend them help. The best thing for Manos Duras to do in this situation was to mount his swift horse without further loss of time, and start off with his prize on the saddle in front of him for that part of the banks of the Limay where he was to meet the rest of the expedition. Certainly he ought to give up the idea of keeping any engagement in La Presa that night. Prudence demanded a change of plans. While he was riding for safety with the girl, he, Piola, and his men, would remain to distract the attention of the pursuers. He could spend several hours convincing the old man that his suspicions were ill-founded. And if other pursuers arrived from the town they too would be convinced, on finding that the gauchos had no woman in their possession, and discovering no evidence of Manos Duras having been at Dead Squaw ranch, that his comrades were merely peaceable travellers using the ranch as a camping ground.
Manos Duras listened impatiently. No; he had taken a fancy to the adventure just as it was and would not change any detail of the plan he had made. He wanted to keep Celinda, well and good, but he would not give up his visit to La Presa, where, as soon as it grew dark, he was going to present himself on his mysterious errand.
“Well, there’s another way out still,” persisted Piola. “The old fellow is offering money for the girl....”
But he got no farther. Close at hand, on the other side of the wall, a shot rang out, and then a cry. Manos Duras’s trusted comrade uttered an oath.
“There! The party’s begun!” he exclaimed, raising the trigger of his gun, and running towards the spot from which the sound had apparently come.
What had happened was that while the man who checked their advance kept his gun aimed at Watson, who because of his youth seemed the more dangerous of the two, Rojas had cautiously removed his revolver from the holster and fired.
The man on guard fell over on his face, and Watson at once grasped his rifle.
At the moment when Piola came around the turn of the building, Rojas had already mounted his horse, for like many of his forefathers, he felt more secure on his mount than he could ever feel standing on solid ground. Watson, who had been wrestling with the wounded man for possession of the rifle, at that moment wrested it from him, and was raising it to his shoulder; but when he found that the mountaineer was aiming at him, the American stooped with a quick instinctive motion, and the bullet, which would otherwise have hit him square in the chest, merely grazed his left shoulder. But the smarting pain caused by the whizzing projectile made him drop the rifle he had seized, and raise his right hand to his wounded shoulder.
Piola stepped towards him to make sure of his second shot; and at this point in the duel Manos Duras thrust his head out of the shelter of the corner wall.