“Rather! A pack of hounds, I should say.”
“You are right; they are Griscelli’s blood-hounds. Is it possible that a prisoner or a slave has escaped, and Griscelli will ask us to join in the hunt?”
“Join in the hunt! You surely don’t mean that you hunt men in this country?”
“Sometimes—when the men are slaves or rebels. It is a sport the general greatly enjoys. Yet it seems very strange; at this time of night, too—Dios mio! can it be possible?”
“Can what be possible, Captain Guzman?” I exclaimed, in some excitement, for a terrible suspicion had crossed my mind.
“Can what be possible? In Heaven’s name speak out!”
But, instead of answering, Guzman went forward to meet Griscelli. I followed him.
“Good-evening, gentlemen,” said the general; “I am glad you are so punctual. I have brought your friend, Señor Fortescue. As you were taken together, it seems only right that you should be released together. It would be a pity to separate such good friends. You see, I am as good as my word. You don’t speak. Are you not grateful?”
“That depends on the conditions, general.”
“I make no conditions whatever. I let you go—neither more nor less—whither you will. But I must warn you that, twenty minutes after you are gone, I shall lay on my hounds. If you outrun them, well and good; if not, tant pis pour vous. I shall have kept my word. Are you not grateful, señor Fortescue?”