"I found one thing out," said the diplomatic Jim, "and that is, that the Pass is a hard one on horses. Are you sure, Senor, that there is no easier way than this to get through?"
"Positive," briefly responded the Spaniard.
Jim who was seated on a rock digging his heel into the soft earth, looked up as a sudden idea struck him,—but without knocking him out.
"How far is it from here to the sea, Senor?" he asked.
"Not over five miles."
"Can we not get around that way?" Jim inquired eagerly.
"Why, yes," replied the Spaniard slowly, "if the tide is not coming in. In that case we should be drowned." Jim glanced hastily at his watch.
"We can try for it and make it, if we do not waste any time," he said. "The horses have had a good rest."
"Very well, Senor," said the Spaniard resignedly. He regarded Jim as an amiable hurricane whom it was not worth while battering to resist. Jim hastily swallowed his coffee and a hunk of bread and in five minutes the three musketeers were in the saddle again.