“No sign of Mejia yet,” observed Carmen, as he lighted his cigar with a burning-glass. “Shall we go on toward Tres Cruces, or return to our old camping-ground in the hills?”
“I am for going on.”
“So am I. But we must keep a sharp lookout. We shall be on dangerous ground after we have crossed the Tio.”
“Where is the Tio?”
“There!” (pointing to the attenuated stream near us).
“That! I thought the Tio was a river.”
“So it is, and a big one in the rainy season, as you may have an opportunity of seeing. I wish we could hear something of Mejia. But there is nobody of whom we can inquire. The country is deserted; the herdsmen have all gone south, to keep out of the way of guerillas and brigands, all of whom look on cattle as common property.”
“Somebody comes!” said Gahra, who was always on the lookout.
“How many?” exclaimed Carmen, springing to his feet.
“Only one.”