“Stop, Duncan,” cried Mr Laffan; “I do not like the look of things.” He soon overtook me, and expressed the same fears I entertained.
I asked Manoel what he thought.
“Very likely,” he answered; “those ladrones would as willingly rob English travellers who honour our country by a visit, as they would the unfortunate Patriots or us poor Indians. The best thing we can do is to push on.”
The peons carried our valises, the most valuable part of our property. We had our money in our pockets, with a brace of pistols apiece; and I had my gun, which I had brought in case I should see anything to shoot.
“But what shall we do for provisions?” asked Mr Laffan.
“We shall find game enough on the road to supply all our wants,” answered Manoel.
We agreed, therefore, to move forward as fast as we could. Domingo, with the peons and our animals, if not captured, could easily follow and overtake us at night.
“We are coming to the steepest part of our journey,” said Manoel; “the Spanish soldiers will have a difficulty in climbing up the path ahead.”
Every now and then Mr Laffan looked back, and I kept looking occasionally down the valley,—but not a sign of our attendants could I discover. In a short time Manoel said that he observed the marks of footsteps ahead. “They are those of a sillero carrying some person. We shall soon overtake them.”
Manoel, in his eagerness, soon distanced the other peon and Mr Laffan, whose anxiety made him stop to ascertain whether our attendants were coming. We were at this time mounting an excessively steep and narrow path, with a tremendous precipice on one side, down which it made me giddy to look: had I not had the most perfect confidence in my sillero, I should infinitely have preferred to walk. I begged him, indeed, to let me get off; but he always answered, “You are no weight; it makes not the slightest difference to me. I feel my footing more secure with you on my back.” Shortly afterwards I heard him exclaim, “There they are!—the savage brute!”