We jumped up at once and ran out of the thicket. Gahra and Guido were waiting for us, each with a led horse.
“We were beginning to think you had been taken, or gone away,” said Guido, hoarsely. “I have howled six times in succession. My voice will be quite ruined.”
“It did not sound so just now. We were fast asleep.”
“Pizarro!” I exclaimed, greatly delighted by the sight of my old favorite. “You have brought Pizarro! How did you manage that, Gahra?”
“He came to the camp last night. But mount at once, señor. We got away without difficulty—stole off while the men were at supper. But we met an officer who asked us a question; and though Guido said we were taking the horses by order of General Mejia himself, he did not appear at all satisfied, and if he should speak to the general something might happen, especially as it is not long since we left the camp, and we have been waiting here ten minutes. Here is a spear for you, and the pistols in your holsters are loaded and primed.”
I mounted without asking any more questions. Gahra’s news was disquieting, and we had no time to lose; for, in order to reach the llanos without the almost certainty of falling into the hands of our friend Griscelli, we should have to pass within a mile of the patriot camp, and if an alarm were given, our retreat might be cut off. This, however, seemed to be our only danger; our horses were fleet and fresh, and the llanos near, and, once fairly away, we might bid defiance to pursuit.
“Let us push on,” said Carmen. “If anybody accosts us don’t answer a word, and fight only at the last extremity, to save ourselves from capture or death; and, above all things, silence in the ranks.”
The night was clear, the sky studded with stars, and, except where trees overhung the road, we could see some little distance ahead, the only direction in which we had reason to apprehend danger.
Carmen and I rode in front; Gahra and Guido a few yards in the rear.
We had not been under way more than a few minutes when Gahra uttered an exclamation.