"Another cloud of dust," said Gahra, pointing to the north-west.

So there was, and moving rapidly. Had our attention been less taken up with the guerillas this new portent would not so long have escaped us.

"Mejia! I'll wager ten thousand piasters that behind that cloud are Mejia and his braves," exclaimed Carmen, excitedly. Hijo de Dios! Won't they make mince-meat of the Spaniard? How I wish I were with them! Shall we go back Senor Fortescue?"

"If you think—"

"Think! I am sure. I can see the gleam of their spears through the dust. By all means, let us join them. The Spaniards have too much on their hands just now to heed us. But I must have a spear."

And with that Carmen slipped from his horse and picked up the lance of the fallen guerilla.

"Do you prefer a spear to a sword?" I asked, as we rode on.

"I like both, but in a charge on the llanos I prefer a spear decidedly. Yet I dare say you will do better with the weapon to which you have been most accustomed. If you ward off or evade the first thrust and get to your opponent's left rear you will have him at your mercy. Our llaneros are indifferent swordsmen; but once turn your back and you are doomed. Hurrah! There is Mejia, leading his fellows on. Don't you see him? The tall man on the big horse. Forward, senors! We may be in time for the encounter even yet."



CHAPTER XIV.

CAUGHT.

A smart gallop of a few minutes brought us near enough to see what was going on, though as we had to make a considerable detour in order to avoid the Spaniards, we were just too late for the charge, greatly to Carmen's disappointment.

In numbers the two sides were pretty equal, the strength of each being about a thousand men. Their tactics were rather those of Indian braves than regular troops. The patriots were, however, both better led and better disciplined than their opponents, and fought with a courage and a resolution that on their native plains would have made them formidable foes for the "crackest" of European cavalry.

The encounter took place when we were within a few hundred yards of Mejia's left flank. It was really a charge in line, albeit a very broken line, every man riding as hard as he could and fighting for his own land. All were armed with spears, the longest, as I afterward learned, being wielded by Colombian gauchos. These portentous weapons, fully fourteen feet long, were held in both hands, the reins being meanwhile placed on the knees, and the horses guided by voice and spur. The Spaniards seemed terribly afraid of them, as well they might be, for the Colombian spears did dire execution. Few missed their mark, and I saw more than one trooper literally spitted and lifted clean out of his saddle.

Mejia, distinguishable by his tall stature, was in the thick of the fray. After the first shock he threw away his spear, and drawing a long two-handed sword, which he carried at his back, laid about like a coeur-de-lion. The combat lasted only a few minutes, and though we were too late to contribute to the victory we were in time to take part in the pursuit.

It was a scene of wild confusion and excitement; the Spaniards galloping off in all directions, singly and in groups, making no attempt to rally, yet when overtaken, fighting to the last, Mejia's men following them with lowered lances and wild cries, managing their fiery little horses with consummate ease, and making no prisoners.

"Here is a chance for us; let us charge these fellows!" shouted Carmen, as eight or nine of the enemy rode past us in full retreat; and without pausing for a reply he went off at a gallop, followed by Gahra and myself; for although I had no particular desire to attack men who were flying for their lives and to whom I knew no quarter would be given, it was impossible to hold back when my comrades were rushing into danger. Had the Spaniards been less intent on getting away it would have fared ill with us. As it was, we were all wounded. Gahra got a thrust through the arm, Carmen a gash in the thigh; and as I gave one fellow the point in his throat his spear pierced my hat and cut my head. If some of the patriots had not come to the rescue our lives would have paid the forfeit of our rashness.

The incident was witnessed by Mejia himself, who, when he recognized Carmen, rode forward, greeted us warmly and remarked that we were just in time.

"To be too late," answered Carmen, discontentedly, as he twisted a handkerchief round his wounded thigh.

"Not much; and you have done your share. That was a bold charge you made. And your friends? I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing them."

Carmen introduced us, and told him who I was.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, senor," he said, graciously, "and I will give you of my best; but I can offer you only rough fare and plenty of fighting. Will that content you?"

I bowed, and answered that I desired nothing better. The guerilla leader was a man of striking appearance, tall, spare, and long limbed. The contour of his face was Indian; he had the deep-set eyes, square jaws, and lank hair of the abonguil race. But his eyes were blue, his hair was flaxen, and his skin as fair as that of a pure-blooded Teuton. Mejia, as I subsequently heard, was the son of a German father and a mestizma mother, and prouder of his Indian than his European ancestry. It was probably for this reason that he preferred being called Mejia rather than Morgenstern y Mejia, his original appellation. His hereditary hatred of the Spaniards, inflamed by a sense of personal wrong, was his ruling passion. He spared none of the race (being enemies) who fell into his hands. Natives of the country, especially those with Indian blood in their veins, he treated more mercifully—when his men would let him, for they liked killing even more than they liked fighting, and had an unpleasant way of answering a remonstrance from their officers with a thrust from their spears.

Mejia owed his ascendancy over them quite as much to his good fortune in war as to his personal prowess and resolute character.

"If I were to lose a battle they would probably take my life, and I should certainly have to resign my command," he observed, when we were talking the matter over after the pursuit (which, night being near, was soon abandoned); "and a llanero leader must lead—no playing the general or watching operations from the rear—or it will be the worse for him."

"I understand; he must be first or nowhere."

"Yes, first or nowhere; and they will brook no punishment save death. If a man disobeys me I either let it pass or shoot him out of hand, according to circumstances. If I were to strike a man or order him under arrest, the entire force would either mutiny or disband. Si senor, my llaneros are wild fellows."

They looked it. Most of them wore only a ragged shirt over equally ragged trousers. Their naked feet were thrust into rusty stirrups. Some rode bare-backed, and there were among them men of every breed which the country produced; mestizoes, mulattoes, zambos, quadroons, negroes, and Indios, but all born gauchos and llaneros, hardy and in high condition, and well skilled in the use of lasso and spear. They were volunteers, too, and if their chief failed to provide them with a sufficiency of fighting and plunder, they had no hesitation in taking themselves off without asking for leave of absence.

When Mejia heard that a British force was being raised for service against the Spaniards, he was greatly delighted, and offered me on the spot a command in his "army," or, alternatively, the position of his principal aide-de-camp. I preferred the latter.

"You have decided wisely, and I thank you, senor coronel. The advice and assistance of a soldier who has seen so much of war as you have will be very valuable and highly esteemed."

I reminded the chief that, in the British army, I had held no higher rank than that of lieutenant.

"What matters that? I have made myself a general, and I make you a colonel. Who is there to say me nay?" he demanded, proudly.

Though much amused by this summary fashion of conferring military rank, I kept a serious countenance, and, after congratulating General Mejia on his promotion and thanking him for mine, I said that I should do my best to justify his confidence.

We bivouacked on the banks of a stream some ten miles from the scene of our encounter with the loyalists. On our way thither, Mejia told us that he had taken and destroyed Tres Cruces, and was now contemplating an attack on General Griscelli at San Felipe, as to which he asked my opinion.

I answered that, as I knew nothing either of the defense of San Felipe or of the strength and character of the force commanded by General Griscelli, I could give none. On this, Mejia informed me that the place was a large village and military post, defended by earthworks and block-houses, and that the force commanded by Griscelli consisted of about twenty-five hundred men, of whom about half were regulars, half native auxiliaries.

"Has he any artillery?" I asked.

"About ten pieces of position, but no field-guns."

"And you?"

"I have none whatever."

"Nor any infantry?"

"Not here. But my colleague, General Estero, is at present organizing a force which I dare say will exceed two thousand men, and he promises to join me in the course of a week or two."

"That is better, certainly. Nevertheless, I fear that with one thousand horse and two thousand foot, and without artillery, you will not find it easy to capture a strong place, armed with ten guns and held by twenty-five hundred men, of whom half are regulars. If I were you I would let San Felipe alone."

Mejia frowned. My advice was evidently not to his liking.

"Let me tell you, senor coronel" he said, arrogantly, "our patriot soldiers are equal to any in the world, regular or irregular. And, don't you see that the very audacity of the enterprise counts in our favor? The last thing Griscelli expects is an attack. We shall find him unprepared and take him by surprise. That man has done us a great deal of harm. He hangs every patriot who falls into his hands, and I have made up my mind to hang him!"

After this there was nothing more to be said, and I held my peace. I soon found, moreover, that albeit Mejia often made a show of consulting me he had no intention of accepting my advice, and that all his officers (except Carmen) and most of his men regarded me as a gringo (foreign interloper) and were envious of my promotion, and jealous of my supposed influence with the general.

We bivouacked in a valley on the verge of the llanos, and the next few days were spent in raiding cattle and preparing tasajo. We had also another successful encounter with a party of Morale's guerillas. This raised Mejia's spirits to the highest point, and made him more resolute than ever to attack San Felipe. But when I saw General Estero's infantry my misgivings as to the outcome of the adventure were confirmed. His men, albeit strong and sturdy and full of fight, were badly disciplined and indifferently armed, their officers extremely ignorant and absurdly boastful and confident. Estero himself, though like Mejia, a splendid patriotic leader, was no general, and I felt sure that unless we caught Griscelli asleep we should find San Felipe an uncommonly hard nut to crack. I need hardly say, however, that I kept this opinion religiously to myself. Everybody was so confident and cock-sure, that the mere suggestion of a doubt would have been regarded as treason and probably exposed me to danger.

A march of four days partly across the llanos, partly among the wooded hills by which they were bounded, brought us one morning to a suitable camping-ground, within a few miles of San Felipe, and Mejia, who had assumed the supreme command, decided that the attack should take place on the following night.

"You will surely reconnoitre first, General Mejia," I ventured to say.

"What would be the use? Estero and I know the place. However, if you and Carmen like to go and have a look you may."

Carmen was nothing loath, and two hours before sunset we saddled our horses and set out. I could speak more freely to him than to any of the others, and as we rode on I remarked how carelessly the camp was guarded. There were no proper outposts, and instead of being kept out of sight in the quebrado, the men were allowed to come and go as they liked. Nothing would be easier than for a treacherous soldier to desert and give information to the enemy which might not only ruin the expedition but bring destruction on the army.

"No, no, Fortescue, I cannot agree to that. There are no traitors among us," said my companion, warmly.

"I hope not. Yet how can you guarantee that among two or three thousand men there is not a single rascal! In war, you should leave nothing to chance. And even though none of the fellows desert it is possible that some of them may wander too far away and get taken prisoners, which would be quite as bad."

"You mean it would give Griscelli warning?"

"Exactly, and if he is an enterprising general he would not wait to be attacked. Instead of letting us surprise him he would surprise us."

"Caramba! So he would. And Griscelli is an enterprising general. We must mention this to Mejia when we get back, amigo mio."

"You may, if you like. I am tired of giving advice which is never heeded," I said, rather bitterly.

"I will, certainly, and then whatever befalls I shall have a clear conscience. Mejia is one of the bravest men I know. It is a pity he is so self-opinionated."

"Yes, and to make a general a man must have something more than bravery. He must have brains."

Carmen knew the country we were in thoroughly, and at his suggestion we went a roundabout way through the woods in order to avoid coming in contact with any of Griscelli's people. On reaching a hill overlooking San Felipe we tethered our horses in a grove of trees where they were well hidden, and completed the ascent on foot. Then, lying down, and using a field-glass lent us by Mejia, we made a careful survey of the place and its surroundings.

San Felipe, a picturesque village of white houses with thatched roofs, lay in a wide well-cultivated valley, looking south, and watered by a shallow stream which in the rainy season was probably a wide river. At each corner of the village, well away from the houses, was a large block-house, no doubt pierced for musketry. From one block-house to another ran an earthen parapet with a ditch, and on each parapet were mounted three guns.

"Well, what think you of San Felipe, and our chances of taking it?" asked Carmen, after a while.

"I don't think its defences are very formidable. A single mortar on that height to the east would make the place untenable in an hour; set it on fire in a dozen places. It is all wood. But to attempt its capture with a force of infantry numerically inferior to the garrison will be a very hazardous enterprise indeed, and barring miraculously good luck on the one side or miraculously ill luck on the other cannot possibly succeed, I should say. No, Carmen, I don't think we shall be in San Felipe to-morrow night, or any night, just yet."

"But how if a part of the garrison be absent? Hist! Did not you hear something?"

"Only the crackling of a branch. Some wild animal, probably. I wonder whether there are any jaguars hereabout—"

"Oh, if the garrison be weak and the sentries sleep it is quite possible we may take the place by a rush. But, on the other hand, it is equally possible that Griscelli may have got wind of our intention, and—"

"There it is again! Something more than a wild animal this time, Fortescue," exclaims Carmen, springing to his feet.

I follow his example; but the same instant a dozen men spring from the bushes, and before we can offer any resistance, or even draw our swords, we are borne to the ground and despite our struggles, our arms pinioned to our sides.



CHAPTER XV.

AN OLD ENEMY.

Our captors were Spanish soldiers.

"Be good enough to rise and accompany us to San Felipe, senores," said the non-commissioned officer in command of the detachment, "and if you attempt to escape I shall blow your brains out."

"Dios mio! It serves us right for not keeping a better lookout," said Carmen, with a laugh which I thought sounded rather hollow. "We shall be in San Felipe sooner than we expected, that is all. Lead on, sergeant; we have a dozen good reasons for not trying to escape, to say nothing of our strait waistcoats."

Whereupon we were marched down the hill and taken to San Felipe, two men following with our horses, from which and other circumstances I inferred that we had been under observation ever since our arrival in the neighborhood. The others were doubtless under observation also; and at the moment I thought less of our own predicament (in view of the hanging propensities of General Griscelli, a decidedly unpleasant one) than of the terrible surprise which awaited Mejia and his army, for, as I quickly perceived, the Spaniards were quite on the alert, and fully prepared for whatever might befall. The place swarmed with soldiers; sentries were pacing to and fro on the parapets, gunners furbishing up their pieces, and squads of native auxiliaries being drilled on a broad savanna outside the walls.

Many of the houses were mere huts—roofs on stilts; others, "wattle and dab;" a few, brown-stone. To the most imposing of these we were conducted by our escort. Above the doorway, on either side of which stood a sentry, was an inscription: "Headquarters: General Griscelli."

The sergeant asked one of the sentries if the general was in, and receiving an answer in the affirmative he entered, leaving us outside. Presently he returned.

"The general will see you," he said; "be good enough to come in."

We went in, and after traversing a wide corridor were ushered into a large room, where an officer in undress uniform sat writing at a big table. Several other officers were lounging in easy-chairs, and smoking big cigars.

"Here are the prisoners, general," announced our conductor.

The man at the table, looking up, glanced first at Carmen, then at me.

"Caramba!" he exclaimed, with a stare of surprise, "you and I have met before, I think."

I returned the stare with interest, for though I recognized him I could hardly believe my own eyes.

"On the field of Salamanca?"

"Of course. You are the English officer who behaved so insolently and got me reprimanded." (This in French.)

"I did no more than my duty. It was you that behaved insolently."

"Take care what you say, senor, or por Dios—There is no English general to whom you can appeal for protection now. What are you doing here?"

"Not much good, I fear. Your men brought me: I had not the least desire to come, I assure you."

"You were caught on the hill yonder, surveying the town through a glass, and Sergeant Prim overheard part of a conversation which leaves no doubt that you are officers in Mejia's army. Besides, you were seen coming from the quarter where he encamped this morning. Is this so?"

Carmen and I exchanged glances. My worst fears were confirmed—we had been betrayed.

"Is this so? I repeat."

"It is."

"And have you, an English officer who has fought for Spain, actually sunk so low as to serve with a herd of ruffianly rebels?"

"At any rate, General Griscelli, I never deserted to the enemy."

The taunt stung him to the quick. Livid with rage he sprung from his chair and placed his hand on his sword.

"Do you know that you are in my power?" he exclaimed. "Had you uttered this insult in Spanish instead of in French, I would have strung you up without more ado."

"You insulted me first. If you are a true caballero give me the satisfaction which I have a right to demand."

"No, senor; I don't meet rebels on the field of honor. If they are common folk I hang them; if they are gentlemen I behead them."

"Which is in store for us, may I ask?"

"Por Dios! you take it very coolly. Perhaps neither."

"You will let me go, then?"

"Let you go! Let you go! Yes, I will let you go," laughing like a man who has made a telling joke, or conceived a brilliant idea.

"When?"

"Don't be impatient, senor; I should like to have the pleasure of your company for a day or two before we part. Perhaps after—What is the strength of Mejia's army?"

"I decline to say."

"I think I could make you say, though, if it were worth the trouble. As it happens, I know already. He has about two thousand infantry and one thousand cavalry. What has he come here for? Does the fool actually suppose that with a force like that he can capture San Felipe? Such presumption deserves punishment, and I shall give him a lesson he will not easily forget—if he lives to remember it. Your name and quality, senor" (to Carmen).

"Salvador Carmen, teniente in the patriot army."

"I suppose you have heard how I treat patriots?"

"Yes, general, and I should like to treat you in the same way."

"You mean you would like to hang me. In that case you cannot complain if I hang you. However I won't hang you—to-day. I will either send you to the next world in the company of your general, or let you go with—"

"Senor Fortescue?"

"Thank you—with Senor Fortescue. That is all, I think. Take him to the guard-house, sergeant—Stay! If you will give me your parole not to leave the town without my permission, or make any attempt to escape, you may remain at large, Senor Fortescue."

"For how long?"

"Two days."

As the escape in the circumstances seemed quite out of the question, I gave my parole without hesitation, and asked the same favor for my companion.

"No" (sternly). "I could not believe a rebel Creole on his oath. Take him away, sergeant, and see that he is well guarded. If you let him escape I will hang you in his stead."

Despite our bonds Carmen and I contrived to shake hands, or rather, touch fingers, for it was little more.

"We shall meet again." I whispered. "If I had known that he would not take your parole I would not have given mine. Let courage be our watchword. Hasta manana!"

"Pray take a seat, Senor Fortescue, and we will have a talk about old times in Spain. Allow me to offer you a cigar—I beg your pardon, I was forgetting that my fellows had tied you up. Captain Guzman (to one of the loungers), will you kindly loose Mr. Fortescue? Gracias! Now you can take a cigar, and here is a chair for you."

I was by no means sure that this sudden display of urbanity boded me good, but being a prisoner, and at Griscelli's mercy, I thought it as well to humor him, so accepted the cigar and seated myself by his side.

After a talk about the late war in Spain, in the course of which Griscelli told some wonderful stories of the feats he had performed there (for the man was egregiously vain) he led the conversation to the present war in South America, and tried to worm out of me where I had been and what I had done since my arrival in the country. I answered him courteously and diplomatically, taking good care to tell him nothing that I did not want to be known.

"I see," he said, "it was a love of adventure that brought you here—you English are always running after adventures. A caballero like you can have no sympathy with these rascally rebels."

"I beg your pardon; I do sympathize with the rebels; not, I confess, as warmly as I did at first, and if I had known as much as I know now, I think I should have hesitated to join them."

"How so?"

"They kill prisoners in cold blood, and conduct war more like savages than Christians."

"You are right, they do. Yes, killing prisoners in cold blood is a brutal practice! I am obliged to be severe sometimes, much to my regret. But there is only one way of dealing with a rebellion—you must stamp it out; civil war is not as other wars. Why not join us, Senor Fortescue? I will give you a command."

"That is quite out of the question, General Griscelli; I am not a mere soldier of fortune. I have eaten these people's salt, and though I don't like some of their ways, I wish well to their cause."

"Think better of it, senor. The alternative might not be agreeable."

"Whatever the alternative may be, my decision is irrevocable. And you said just now you would let me go."

"Oh, yes, I will let you go, since you insist on it" (smiling). "All the same, I think you will regret your decision—Mejia, of course, means to attack us. He can have come with no other object—by your advice?"

"Certainly not."

"That means he is acting against your advice. The man is mad. He thought of taking us by surprise, I suppose. Why, I knew he was on his way hither two days ago! And if he does not attack us to-night—and we are quite ready for him—I shall capture him and the whole of his army to-morrow. I want you to go with us and witness the operation—in the character of a spectator."

"And a prisoner?"

"If you choose to put it so."

"In that case, there is no more to be said, though for choice, I would rather not witness the discomfiture of my friends."

Griscelli gave an ironical smile, which I took to mean that it was precisely for this reason that he asked me to accompany him.

"Will you kindly receive Senor Fortescue, as your guest, Captain Guzman," he said, "take him to your quarters, give him his supper, and find him a bed."

"Con mucho gusto. Shall we go now, Senor Fortescue?"

I went, and spent a very pleasant evening with Captain Guzman, and several of his brother-officers, whom he invited to join us, for though the Spaniards of that age were frightfully cruel to their enemies, they were courteous to their guests, and as a guest I was treated. As, moreover, most of the men I met had served in the Peninsular war, we had quite enough to talk about without touching on topics whose discussion might have been incompatible with good fellowship.

When, at a late hour, I turned into the hammock provided for me by Guzman, it required an effort to realize that I was a prisoner. Why, I asked myself, had Griscelli, who was never known to spare a prisoner, whose face was both cruel and false, and who could bear me no good-will—why had this man treated me so courteously? Did he really mean to let me go, and if so, why; or was the promise made to the ear merely to be broken to the hope?

"Perhaps to-morrow will show," I thought, as I fell asleep; and I was not far out, for the day after did. Guzman, whose room I shared, wakened me long before daylight.

"The bugle has sounded the reveille, and the troops are mustering on the plaza," he said. "You had better rise and dress. The general has sent word that you are to go with us, and our horses are in the patio."

I got up at once, and after drinking a hasty cup of coffee, we mounted and joined Griscelli and his staff.

The troops were already under arms, and a few minutes later we marched, our departure being so timed, as I heard the general observe to one of his aides-de-camp, that we might reach the neighborhood of the rebel camp shortly before sunrise. His plan was well conceived, and, unless Mejia had been forewarned or was keeping a sharper lookout than he was in the habit of doing, I feared it would go ill with him.

The camping-ground was much better suited for concealment than defence. It lay in a hollow in the hills, in shape like a horse-shoe, with a single opening, looking east, and was commanded in every direction by wooded heights. Griscelli's plan was to occupy the heights with skirmishers, who, hidden behind the trees and bushes, could shoot down the rebels with comparative security. A force of infantry and cavalry would meanwhile take possession of the opening and cut off their retreat. In this way, thought Griscelli, the patriots would either be slaughtered to a man, or compelled to surrender at discretion.

I could not deny (though I did not say so) that he had good grounds for this opinion. The only hope for Mejia was that, alarmed by our disappearance, he had stationed outposts on the heights and a line of vedettes on the San Felipe road, and fortified the entrance to the quebrada. In that case the attack might be repulsed, despite the superiority of the Spanish infantry and the disadvantages of Mejia's position. But the probabilities were against his having taken any of these precautions; the last thing he thought of was being attacked, and I could hardly doubt that he would be fatally entangled in the toils which were being laid for him.

While these thoughts were passing through my mind we were marching rapidly and silently toward our destination, lighted only by the stars. The force consisted of two brigades, the second of which, commanded by General Estero, had gone on half an hour previously. I was with the first and rode with Griscelli's staff. So far there had not been the slightest hitch, and the Spaniards promised themselves an easy victory.

It had been arranged that the first brigade should wait, about a mile from the entrance to the valley until Estero opened fire, and then advance and occupy the outlet. Therefore, when we reached the point in question a halt was called, and we all listened eagerly for the preconcerted signal.

And then occurred one of those accidents which so often mar the best laid plans. After we had waited a full hour, and just as day began to break, the rattle of musketry was heard on the heights, whereupon Griscelli, keenly alive to the fact that every moment of delay impaired his chances of success, ordered his men to fall in and march at the double. But, unfortunately for the Spaniards, the shots we had heard were fired too soon. The way through the woods was long and difficult, Estero's men got out of hand; some of them, in their excitement, fired too soon, with the result that, when the first division appeared in the valley, the patriots, rudely awakened from their fancied security, were getting under arms, and Mejia saw at a glance into what a terrible predicament his overconfidence had led him. He saw also (for though an indifferent general he was no fool) that the only way of saving his army from destruction, was to break out of the valley at all hazards, before the Spaniards enclosed him in a ring of fire.

Mejia took his measures accordingly. Placing his llaneros and gauchos in front and the infantry in the rear, he advanced resolutely to the attack; and though it is contrary to rule for light cavalry to charge infantry, this order, considering the quality of the rebel foot, was probably the best which he could adopt.

On the other hand, the Spanish position was very strong, Griscelli massed his infantry in the throat of the quebrada, the thickets on either side of it being occupied in force. The reserve consisted exclusively of horse, an arm in which he was by no means strong. Mejia was thus encompassed on three sides, and had his foes reserved their fire and stood their ground, he could not possibly have broken through them. But the Spaniards opened fire as soon as the rebels came within range. Before they could reload, the gauchos charged, and though many saddles were emptied, the rebel horse rode so resolutely and their long spears looked so formidable, that the Spaniards gave way all along the line, and took refuge among the trees, thereby leaving the patriots a free course.

This was the turning-point of the battle, and had the rebel infantry shown as much courage as their cavalry the Spaniards would have been utterly beaten; but their only idea was to get away; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry them, an example which was promptly imitated by the Spanish cavalry, who instead of charging the rebel horse in flank as they emerged from the valley, galloped off toward San Felipe, followed nolens volens by Griscelli and his staff.

It was the only battle I ever saw or heard of in which both sides ran away. If Mejia had gone to San Felipe he might have taken it without striking a blow, but besides having lost many of his brave llaneros, he had his unfortunate infantry to rally and protect, and the idea probably never occurred to him.

As for the Spanish infantry, they stayed in the woods till the coast was clear, and then hied them home.

Griscelli was wild with rage. To have his well-laid plans thwarted by cowardice and stupidity, the easy victory he had promised himself turned into an ignominious defeat at the very moment when, had his orders been obeyed, the fortunes of the day might have been retrieved—all this would have proved a severe trial for a hero or a saint, and certainly Griscelli bore his reverse neither with heroic fortitude nor saintly resignation. He cursed like the jackdaw of Rheims, threatened dire vengeance on all and sundry, and killed one of the runaway troopers with his own hand. I narrowly escaped sharing the same fate. Happening to catch sight of me when his passion was at the height he swore that he would shoot at least one rebel, and drawing a pistol from his holster pointed it at my head. I owed my life to Captain Guzman, who was one of the best and bravest of his officers.

"Pray don't do that, general," he said. "It would be an ill requital for Senor Fortescue's faithful observance of his parole. And you promised to let him go."

"Promised to let him go! So I did, and I will be as good as my word," returned Griscelli, grimly, as he uncocked his pistol. "Yes, he shall go."

"Now?"

"No. To-night. Meet me, both of you, near the old sugar-mill on the savanna when the moon rises; and give him a good supper, Guzman; he will need it."



CHAPTER XVI.

THE AZUFERALES.

"What is General Griscelli's game? Does he really mean to let me go, or is he merely playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse?" I asked Guzman, as we sat at supper.

"That is just the question I have been asking myself. I never knew him let a prisoner go before, and I know of no reason why he should treat you more leniently than he treats others. Do you?"

"No. He is more likely to bear me a grudge," and then I told Guzman what had befallen at Salamanca.

"That makes it still less probable that he will let you go away quietly. Griscelli never forgives, and to-day's fiasco has put him in a devil of a temper. He is malicious, too. We have all to be careful not to offend him, even in trifles, or he would make life very unpleasant for us, and I fear he has something very unpleasant in store for you. You may depend upon it that he is meditating some trick. He is quite capable of letting you go as far as the bridge, and then bringing you back and hanging you or fastening you to the tail of a wild mustang or the horns of a wild bull. That also would be letting you go."

"So it would, in a fashion! and I should prefer it to being hanged."

"I don't think I would. The hanging would be sooner over and far less painful. And there are many other ways—he might have your hands tied behind your back and cannon-balls fastened to your feet, and then leave you to your own devices."

"That would not be so bad. We should find some good soul to release us, and I think I could contrive to untie Carmen's bonds with my teeth."

"Or he might cut off your ears and put out your eyes—"

"For Heaven's sake cease these horrible suggestions! You make my blood run cold. But you cannot be serious. Is Griscelli in the habit of putting out the eyes of his prisoners?"

"Not that I am aware of; but I have heard him threaten to do it, and known him to cut off a rebel's ears first and hang him afterward. All the same I don't think he is likely to treat you in that way. It might get to the ears of the captain-general, and though he is not very particular where rebels are concerned, he draws the line at mutilation."

"We shall soon see; we have to be at the old sugar-mill when the moon rises," I said, gloomily, for the prospect held out by Guzman was anything but encouraging.

"And that will be soon. If I see any way of helping you, without compromising myself, I will. Hospitality has its duties, and I cannot forget that you have fought and bled for Spain. Have another drink; you don't know what is before you? And take this knife—it will serve also as a dagger—and this pocket-pistol. Put them where they will not be seen. You may find them useful."

"Gracias! But you surely don't think we shall be sent adrift weaponless and on foot?"

"That is as it may be; but it is well to provide for contingencies. And now let us start; nothing irritates Griscelli so much as having to wait."

So, girding on our swords (mine had been restored to me "by special favor," when I gave my parole), we mounted our horses, which were waiting at the door, and set out.

The savanna was a wide stretch of open ground outside the fortifications, where reviews were held and the troops performed their evolutions; it lay on the north side of the town. Farther on in the same direction was a range of low hills, thickly wooded and ill provided with roads. The country to the east and west was pretty much in the same condition. Southward it was more open, and a score of miles away merged into the llanos.

"We are in good time; the moon is only just rising, and I don't think there is anybody before us," said Guzman, as we neared the old sugar-mill, a dilapidated wooden building, shaded by cebia-trees and sombrero palms.

"But there is somebody behind us," I said, looking back. "A squadron of cavalry at the least."

"Griscelli, I suppose, and Carmen. But why is the general bringing so many people with him, I wonder? And don't I see dogs?"

"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, Senor 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, senor Fortescue?"

"No; why should I be grateful for a death more terrible than hanging. Kill us at once, and have done with it. You are a disgrace to the noble profession of arms, general, and the time will come—"

"Another word, and I will throw you to the hounds without further parley," broke in Griscelli, savagely.

"Better keep quiet; there is nothing to be gained by roiling him," whispered Carmen.

I took his advice and held my peace, all the more willingly as there was something in Carmen's manner which implied that he did not think our case quite so desperate as might appear.

"Dismount and give up your weapons," said Griscelli.

Resistance being out of the question, we obeyed with the best grace we could; but I bitterly regretted having to part with the historic Toledo and my horse Pizarro; he had carried me well, and we thoroughly understood each other. The least I could do was to give him his freedom, and, as I patted his neck by way of bidding him farewell, I slipped the bit out of his mouth, and let him go.

"Hallo! What is that—a horse loose? Catch him, some of you," shouted Griscelli, who had been talking with his huntsman and Captain Guzman, whereupon two of the troopers rode off in pursuit, a proceeding which made Pizarro gallop all the faster, and I knew that, follow him as long as they might, they would not overtake him.

Griscelli resumed his conversation with Captain Guzman, an opportunity by which I profited to glance at the hounds, and though I was unable just then to regard them with very kindly feelings, I could not help admiring them. Taller and more strongly built than fox-hounds, muscular and broad-chested, with pendulous ears and upper lips, and stern, thoughtful faces, they were splendid specimens of the canine race; even sized too, well under control, and in appearance no more ferocious than other hounds. Why should they be? All hounds are blood-hounds in a sense, and it is probably indifferent to them whether they pursue a fox, a deer, or a man; it is entirely a matter of training.

"I am going to let you have more law than I mentioned just now" said Griscelli, turning to Carmen and me. "Captain Guzman, here, and the huntsmen think twenty minutes would not give us much of a run—these hounds are very fast—so I shall make it forty. But you must first submit to a little operation. Make them ready, Jose."

Whereupon one of the attendants, producing a bottle, smeared our shoes and legs with a liquid which looked like blood, and was, no doubt, intended to insure a good scent and render our escape impossible. While this was going on Carmen and I took off our coats and threw them on the ground."

"When I give the word you may start," said Griscelli, "and forty minutes afterward the hounds will be laid on—Now!"

"This way! Toward the hills!" said Carmen. "Are you in good condition?"

"Never better."

"We must make all the haste we can, before the hounds are laid on. If we can keep this up we shall reach the hills in forty minutes—perhaps less."

"And then? These hounds will follow us for ever—no possibility of throwing them out—unless—is there a river?"

"None near enough, still—"

"You have hope, then—"

"Just a little—I have an idea—if we can go on running two hours—have you a flint and steel?"

"Yes, and a loaded pistol and a knife."

"Good! That is better than I thought. But don't talk. We shall want every bit of breath in our bodies before we have done. This way! By the cane-piece there!"

With heads erect, arms well back, and our chests expanded to their utmost capacity we sped silently onward; and although we do not despair we realize to the full that we are running for our lives; grim Death is on our track and only by God's help and good fortune can we hope to escape.

Across the savanna, past corn-fields and cane-pieces we race without pause—looking neither to the right nor left—until we reach the road leading to the hills. Here we stop a few seconds, take a few deep breaths, and then, on again. So far, the road has been tolerable, almost level and free from obstructions. But now it begins to rise, and is so rugged withal that we have to slow our speed and pick our way. Farther on it is the dry bed of a torrent, cumbered with loose stones and erratic blocks, among which we have to struggle painfully.

"This is bad," gasps Carmen. "The hounds must be gaining on us fast."

"Yes, but the scent will be very catching among these stones. They won't run fast here. Let us jump from block to block instead of walking over the pebbles. It will make it all the better for us and worse for them."

On this suggestion we straightway act, but we find the striding and jumping so exhausting, and the risk of slipping and breaking a limb so great, that we are presently compelled to betake ourselves once more to the bed of the stream.

"Never mind," says Carmen, "we shall soon be out of this valley of stones, and the hounds will not find it easy to pick up the scent hereabout. If we only keep out of their jaws another half-hour!"

"Of course, we shall—and more—I hope for ever. We can go on for another hour. But what is your point?"

"The azuferales."

"The azuferales! What are the azuferales"

"I cannot explain now. You will see. If we get there ten or fifteen minutes before the hounds we shall have a good chance of escaping them."

"And how long?"

"That depends—perhaps twenty."

"Then, in Heaven's name, lead on. It is life or death? Even five minutes may make all the difference. Which way?"

"By this trail to the right, and through the forest."

The trail is a broad grass-grown path, not unlike a "ride" in an English wood, bordered by trees and thick undergrowth, but fairly lighted by the moonbeams, and, fortunately for us, rather downhill, with no obstacles more formidable than fallen branches, and here and there a prostrate monarch of the forest, which we easily surmount.

As we go on I notice that the character of the vegetation begins to change. The trees are less leafy, the undergrowth is less dense, and a mephitic odor pervades the air. Presently the foliage disappears altogether, and the trees and bushes are as bare as if they had been stricken with the blast of an Arctic winter; but instead of being whitened with snow or silvered with frost they are covered with an incrustation, which in the brilliant moonlight makes them look like trees and bushes of gold. Over their tops rise faint wreaths of yellowish clouds and the mephitic odor becomes more pronounced.

"At last!" shouts Carmen, as we reach the end of the trail. "At last! Amigo mio, we are saved!"

Before us stretches a wide treeless waste like a turf moor, with a background of sombre forest. The moor, which is broken into humps and hillocks, smokes and boils and babbles like the hell-broth of Macbeth's witches, and across it winds, snake-wise, a steaming brook. Here and there is a stagnant pool, and underneath can be heard a dull roar, as if an imprisoned ocean were beating on a pebble-strewed shore. There is an unmistakable smell of sulphur, and the ground on which we stand, as well as the moor itself, is of a deep-yellow cast.

This, then, is the azuferales—a region of sulphur springs, a brimstone inferno, a volcano in the making. No hounds will follow us over that hideous heath and through that Stygian stream.

"Can we get across and live?" I ask. "Will it bear?"

"I think so. But out with your knife and cut some twigs; and where are your flint and steel?"

"What are you going to do ?"

"Set the forest on fire—the wind is from us—and instead of following us farther—and who knows that they won't try?—instead of following us farther they will have to hark back and run for their lives."

Without another word we set to work gathering twigs, which we place among the trees. Then I dig up with my knife and add to the heap several pieces of the brimstone impregnated turf. This done, I strike a light with my flint and steel.

"Good!" exclaims Carmen. "In five minutes it will be ablaze; in ten, a brisk fire;" and with that we throw on more turf and several heavy branches which, for the moment, almost smother it up.

"Never mind, it still burns, and—hark! What is that?"

"The baying of the hounds and the cries of the hunters. They are nearer than I thought. To the azuferales for our lives!"

The moor, albeit in some places yielding and in others treacherous, did not, as I feared, prove impassable. By threading our way between the smoking sulphur heaps and carefully avoiding the boiling springs we found it possible to get on, yet slowly and with great difficulty; and it soon became evident that, long before we gain the forest the hounds will be on the moor. Their deep-throated baying and the shouts of the field grow every moment louder and more distinct. If we are viewed we shall be lost; for if the blood-hounds catch sight of us not even the terrors of the azuferales will balk them of their prey. And to our dismay the fire does not seem to be taking hold. We can see nothing of it but a few faint sparks gleaming through the bushes.

But where can we hide? The moor is flat and treeless, the forest two or three miles away in a straight line, and we can go neither straight nor fast. If we cower behind one of the smoking brimstone mounds we shall be stifled; if we jump into one of the boiling springs we shall be scalded.

"Where can we hide?" I ask.

"Where can we hide?" repeated Carmen.

"That pool! Don't you see that, a little farther on, the brook forms a pool, and, though it smokes, I don't think it is very hot."

"It is just the place," and with that Carmen runs forward and plunges in.

I follow him, first taking the precaution to lay my pistol and knife on the edge. The water, though warm, is not uncomfortably hot, and when we sit down our heads are just out of the water.

We are only just in time. Two minutes later the hounds, with a great crash, burst out of the forest, followed at a short interval by half a dozen horsemen.

"Curse this brimstone! It has ruined the scent," I heard Griscelli say, as the hounds threw up their heads and came to a dead stop. "If I had thought those ladrones would run hither I would not have given them twenty minutes, much less forty. But they cannot be far off; depend upon it, they are hiding somewhere.—Por Dios, Sheba has it! Good dog! Hark to Sheba! Forward, forward!"

It was true. One of the hounds had hit off the line, then followed another and another, and soon the entire pack was once more in full cry. But the scent was very bad, and seemed to grow worse; there was a check every few yards, and when they got to the brook (which had as many turns and twists as a coiled rope), they were completely at fault. Nevertheless, they persevered, questing about all over the moor, except in the neighborhood of the sulphur mounds and the springs.

While this was going on the horsemen had tethered their steeds and were following on foot, riding over the azuferales being manifestly out of the question. Once Griscelli and Sheba, who appeared to be queen of the pack, came so near the pool that if we had not promptly lowered our heads to the level of the water they would certainly have seen us.

"I am afraid they have given us the slip," I heard Griscelli say. "There is not a particle of scent. But if they have not fallen into one of those springs and got boiled, I'll have them yet—even though I stop all night, or come again to-morrow."

"Mira! Mira! General, the forest is on fire!" shouted somebody. "And the horses—see, they are trying to get loose!"

Then followed curses and cries of dismay, the huntsman sounded his horn to call off the hounds and Carmen and I, raising our heads, saw a sight that made us almost shout for joy.

The fire, which all this time must have been smouldering unseen, had burst into a great blaze, trees and bushes were wrapped in sulphurous flames, which, fanned by the breeze, were spreading rapidly. The very turf was aglow; two of the horses had broken loose and were careering madly about; the others were tugging wildly at their lariats.

Meanwhile Griscelli and his companions, followed by the hounds, were making desperate haste to get back to the trail and reach the valley of stones. But the road was rough, and in attempting to take short cuts several of them came to grief. Two fell into a deep pool and had to be fished out. Griscelli put his foot into one of the boiling springs, and, judging from the loud outcry he made, got badly scalded.

By the time the hunters were clear of the moor the loose horses had disappeared in the forest, and the trees on either side of the trail were festooned with flames. Then there was mounting in hot haste, and the riders, led by Griscelli (the two dismounted men holding on to their stirrup leathers), and followed by the howling and terrified hounds, tore off at the top of their speed.

"They are gone, and I don't think they will be in any hurry to come back," said Carmen, as he scrambled out of the pool. "It was a narrow shave, though."

"Very, and we are not out of the wood yet. Suppose the fire sweeps round the moor and gains the forest on the other side?"

"In that case we stand a very good chance of being either roasted or starved, for we have no food, and there is not a living thing on the moor but ourselves."



CHAPTER XVII.

A TIMELY WARNING.

The involuntary bath which saved our lives served also to restore our strength. When we entered it we were well-nigh spent; we went out of it free from any sense of fatigue, a result which was probably as much due to the chemical properties of the water as to its high temperature.

But though no longer tired we were both hungry and thirsty, and our garments were wringing wet. Our first proceeding was to take them off and wring them; our next, to look for fresh water—for the azuferales was like the ocean-water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

As we picked our way over the smoking waste by the light of the full moon and the burning forest, I asked Carmen, who knew the country and its ways so much better than myself, what he proposed that we should do next.

"Rejoin Mejia."

"But how? We are in the enemies' country and without horses, and we know not where Mejia is."

"I don't think he is far off. He is not the man to retreat after a drawn battle. Until he has beaten Griscelli or Griscelli has beaten him, you may be sure he won't go back to the llanos; his men would not let him. As for horses, we must appropriate the first we come across, either by stratagem or force."

"Is there a way out of the forest on this side?"

"Yes, there is a good trail made by Indian invalids who come here to drink the waters. Our difficulty will not be so much in finding our friends as avoiding our enemies. A few hours' walk will bring us to more open country, but we cannot well start until—"

"Good heavens! What is that?" I exclaimed, as a plaintive cry, which ended in a wail of anguish, such as might be given by a lost soul in torment, rang through the forest.

"It's an araguato, a howling monkey," said Carmen, indifferently. "That's only some old fellow setting the tune; we shall have a regular chorus presently."

And so we had. The first howl was followed by a second, then by a third, and a fourth, and soon all the araguatoes in the neighborhood joined in, and the din became so agonizing that I was fain to put my fingers in my ears and wait for a lull.

"It sounds dismal enough, in all conscience—to us; but I think they mean it for a cry of joy, a sort of morning hymn; at any rate, they don't generally begin until sunrise. But these are perhaps mistaking the fire for the sun."

And no wonder. It was spreading rapidly. The leafless trees that bordered the western side of the azuferales were all alight; sparks, carried by the wind, had kindled several giants of the forest, which, "tall as mast of some high admiral," were flaunting their flaring banners a hundred feet above the mass of the fire.

It was the most magnificent spectacle I had ever seen, so magnificent that in watching it we forgot our own danger, as, if the fire continued to spread, the forest would be impassable for days, and we should be imprisoned on the azuferales without either food or fresh water.

"Look yonder!" said Carmen, laying his hand on my shoulder. A herd of deer were breaking out of the thicket and bounding across the moor.

"Wild animals escaping from the fire?"

"Yes, and we shall have more of them."

The words were scarcely spoken when the deer were followed by a drove of peccaries; then came jaguars, pumas, antelopes, and monkeys; panthers and wolves and snakes, great and small, wriggling over the ground with wondrous speed, and creatures the like of which I had never seen before—a regular stampede of all sorts and conditions of reptiles and beasts, and all too much frightened to meddle either with us or each other.

Fortunately for us, moreover, we were not in their line of march, and there lay between us and them a line of hot springs and smoking sulphur mounds which they were not likely to pass.

The procession had been going on about half an hour when, happening to cast my eye skyward, I saw that the moon had disappeared; overhead hung a heavy mass of cloud, the middle of it reddened by the reflection from the fire to the color of blood, while the outer edges were as black as ink. It was almost as grand a spectacle as the burning forest itself.

"We are going to have rain," said Carmen.

"I hope it will rain in bucketfuls," was my answer, for I had drunk nothing since we left San Felipe, and the run, together with the high temperature and the heat of the fire, had given me an intolerable thirst. I spoke with difficulty, my swollen tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and I would gladly have given ten years of my life for one glass of cold water.

Carmen, whose sufferings were as great as my own, echoed my hope. And it was not long in being gratified, for even as we gazed upward a flash of lightning split the clouds asunder; peal of thunder followed on peal, the rain came down not in drops nor bucketfuls but in sheets, and with weight and force sufficient to beat a child or a weakling to the earth, It was a veritable godsend; we caught the beautiful cool water in our hands and drank our fill.

In less than an hour not a trace of the fire could be seen—nor anything else. The darkness had become so dense that we feared to move lest we might perchance step into one of the boiling springs, fall into the jaws of a jaguar, or set foot on a poisonous snake. So we stayed where we were, whiles lying on the flooded ground, whiles standing up or walking a few paces in the rain, which continued to fall until the rising of the sun, when it ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

The moor had been turned into a smoking swamp, with a blackened forest on one side and a wall of living green on the other. The wild animals had vanished.

"Let us go!" said Carmen.

When we reached the trees we took off our clothes a second time, hung them on a branch, and sat in the sun till they dried.

"I suppose it is no use thinking about breakfast till we get to a house or the camp, wherever that may be?" I observed, as we resumed our journey.

"Well, I don't know. What do you say about a cup of milk to begin with?"

"There is nothing I should like better—to begin with—but where is the cow?"

"There!" pointing to a fine tree with oblong leaves.

"That!"

"Yes, that is the palo de vaca (cow-tree), and as you shall presently see, it will give us a very good breakfast, though we may get nothing else. But we shall want cups. Ah, there is a calabash-tree! Lend me your knife a minute. Gracias!"

And with that Carmen went to the tree, from which he cut a large pear-shaped fruit. This, by slicing off the top and scooping out the pulp he converted into a large bowl. The next thing was to make a gash in the palo de vaca, whereupon there flowed from the wound a thick milky fluid which we caught in the bowl and drank. The taste was agreeable and the result satisfactory, for, though a beefsteak would have been more acceptable, the drink stayed our hunger for the time and helped us on our way.

The trail was easily found. For a considerable distance it ran between a double row of magnificent mimosa-trees which met overhead at a height of fully one hundred and fifty feet, making a glorious canopy of green leaves and rustling branches. The rain had cooled the air and laid the dust, and but for the danger we were in (greater than we suspected) and the necessity we were under of being continually on the alert, we should have had a most enjoyable walk. Late in the afternoon we passed a hut and a maize-field, the first sign of cultivation we had seen since leaving the azuferales, and ascertained our bearings from an old peon who was swinging in a grass hammock and smoking a cigar. San Felipe was about two leagues away, and he strongly advised us not to follow a certain trail, which he described, lest haply we might fall in with Mejia's caballeros, some of whom he had himself seen within the hour a little lower down the valley.

This was good news, and we went on in high spirits.

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Carmen, complacently. "I knew Mejia would not be far off. He is like one of your English bull-dogs. He never knows when he is beaten."

After a while the country became more open, with here and there patches of cultivation; huts were more frequent and we met several groups of peons who, however, eyed us so suspiciously that we thought it inexpedient to ask them any questions.

About an hour before sunset we perceived in the near distance a solitary horseman; but as his face was turned the other way he did not see us.

"He looks like one of our fellows," observed Carmen, after scanning him closely. "All the same, he may not be. Let us slip behind this acacia-bush and watch his movements."

The man himself seemed to be watching. After a short halt, he rode away and returned, but whether halting or moving he was always on the lookout, and as might appear, keenly expectant.

At length he came our way.

"I do believe—Por Dios it is—Guido Pasto, my own man!" and Carmen, greatly excited, rushed from his hiding-place shouting, "Guido!" at the top of his voice.

I followed him, equally excited but less boisterous.

Guido, recognizing his master's voice, galloped forward and greeted us warmly, for though he acted as Carmen's servant he was a free llanero, and expected to be treated as a gentleman and a friend.

"Gracias a Dios!" he said; "I was beginning to fear that we had passed you. Gahra and I have been looking for you all day!"

"That was very good of you; and Senor Fortescue and I owe you a thousand thanks. But where are General Mejia and the army?"

"Near the old place. In a better position, though. But you must not go there—neither of you."

"We must not go there! But why?"

"Because if you do the general will hang you."

"Hang us! Hang Senor Fortescue, who has come all the way from England to help us! Hang me, Salvador Carmen! You have had a sunstroke and lost your wits; that's what it is, Guido Pasto, you have lost your wits—but, perhaps you are joking. Say, now, you are joking."

"No, senor. It would ill become me to make a foolish joke at your expense. Neither have I lost my wits, as you are pleased to suggest. It is only too true; you are in deadly peril. We may be observed, even now. Let us go behind these bushes, where we may converse in safety. It was to warn you of your danger that Gahra and I have been watching for you. Gahra will be here presently, and he will tell you that what I say is true."

"This passes comprehension. What does it all mean? Out with it, good Guido; you have always been faithful, and I don't think you are a fool."

"Thanks for your good opinion, senor. Well, it is very painful for me to have to say it; but the general believes, and save your own personal friends, all the army believes, that you and senor Fortescue are traitors—that you betrayed them to the enemy."

"On what grounds?" asked Carmen, highly indignant.

"You went to reconnoitre; you did not come back; the next morning we were attacked by Griscelli in force, and Senor Fortescue was seen among the enemy, seen by General Mejia himself. It was, moreover, reported this morning in the camp that Griscelli had let you go."

"So he did, and hunted us with his infernal blood-hounds, and we only escaped by the skin of our teeth. We were surprised and taken prisoners. Senor Fortescue was a prisoner on parole when the general saw him. I believe Griscelli obtained his parole and took him to the quebrada for no other purpose than to compromise him with the patriots. And that I, who have killed more than a hundred Spaniards with my own hand, should be suspected of deserting to the enemy is too monstrous for belief."

"Of course, it is an absurd mistake. Appearances are certainly rather against us—at any rate, against me; but a word of explanation will put the matter right. Let us go to the camp at once and have it out."

"Not so fast, Senor Fortescue. I should like to have it out much. But there is one little difficulty in the way which you may not have taken into account. Mejia never listens to explanations, and never goes back on his word. If he said he would hang us he will. He would be very sorry afterward, I have no doubt; but that would not bring us back to life, and it would be rather ridiculous to escape Griscelli's blood-hounds, only to be hanged by our own people."

"And that is not the worst," put in Guido.

"Not the worst! Why what can be worse than being hanged?"

"I mean that even if the general did not carry out his threat you would be killed all the same. The Colombian gauchos swear that they will hack you to pieces wherever they find you. When Gahra comes he will tell you the same."

"You have heard; what do you say?" asked Carmen, turning to me.

"Well, as it seems so certain that if we return to the camp we shall either be hanged or hacked to pieces, I am decidedly of opinion that we had better not return."

"So am I. At the same time, it is quite evident that we cannot remain here, while every man's hand is against us. Is there any possibility of procuring horses, Guido?"

"Yes, sir. I think Gahra and I will be able to bring you horses and arms after nightfall."

"Good! And will Gahra and you throw in your lot with us?"

"Where you go I will go, senor. Let Gahra speak for himself. He will be here shortly. He is coming now. I will show myself that he may know we are here" (stepping out of the thicket).

When the negro arrived he expressed great satisfaction at finding us alive and well. He did not think there would be any great difficulty in getting away and bringing us horses. The lleranos were still allowed to come and go pretty much as they liked, and if awkward questions were asked it would be easy to invent excuses. The best time to get away would be immediately after nightfall, when most of the foraging parties would have returned to camp and the men be at supper.

It was thereupon agreed that the attempt should be made, and that we should stay where we were until we heard the howl of an araguato, which Guido could imitate to perfection. This would signify that all was well, and the coast clear.

Then, after giving us a few pieces of tasajo and a handful of cigars, the two men rode off; for the night was at hand, and if we did not escape before light of moon, the chances were very much against our escaping at all.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A NEW DEPARTURE.

"We seem always to be escaping, amigo mio," said Carmen, as we sat in the shade, eating our tasajo. "We got out of one scrape only to get into another. Your experience of the country so far has not been happy."

"Well, I certainly have had rather a lively time of it since I landed at La Guayra, if that is what you mean."

"Very. And I should almost advise you to leave the country, if that were possible. But reaching the coast in present circumstances is out of the question. All the ports are in possession of the Spaniards, and the roads thither beset by guerillas. I see nothing for it but to go on the llanos and form a guerilla band of our own."

"Isn't guerilla merely another name for brigand?"

"Too often. You must promise the fellows plunder."

"And provide it."

"Of course, or pay them out of your own pocket."

"Well, I am not disposed to become a brigand chief; and I could not keep a band of guerillas at my own charge even if I were disposed. As we cannot get out of the country either by the north or east, what do you say to trying south?"

"How far? To the Brazils?"

"Farther. Over the Andes to Peru."

"Over the Andes to Peru? That is a big undertaking. Do you think we could find that mountain of gold and precious stones you were telling me about?"

"I never entertained any idea so absurd. I merely mentioned poor old Zamorra's crank as an instance of how credulous people could be."

"Well, perhaps the idea is not quite so absurd as you suppose. Even stranger things have happened; and we do know that there is gold pretty nearly everywhere on this continent, to say nothing of the treasure hidden in times past by Indians and Spaniards, and we might find both gold and diamonds."

"Of course we might; and as we cannot stay here, we may as well make the attempt."

"You are not forgetting that it will be very dangerous? We shall carry our lives in our hands."

"That will be nothing new; I have carried my life in my hands ever since I came to Venezuela."

"True, and if you are prepared to encounter the risk and the hardship—As for myself, I must confess that the idea pleases me. But have you any money? We shall have to equip our expedition. If there are only four of us we shall not get beyond the Rio Negro. The Indians of that region are as fierce as alligators."

"I have a few maracotes in the waistband of my trousers and this ring."

"That ring is worth nothing, my friend; at any rate not more than a few reals."

"A few reals! It contains a ruby, though you don't see it, worth fully five hundred piasters—if I could find a customer for it."

"I don't think you will easily find a customer for a ruby ring on the llanos. However, I'll tell you what. An old friend of mine, a certain Senor Morillones, has a large estate at a place called Naparima on the Apure. Let us go there to begin with. Morillones will supply us with mules, and we may possibly persuade some of his people to accompany us. Treasure-hunting is always an attraction for the adventurous. What say you?"

"Yes. By all means let us go."

"We may regard it as settled, then, that we make in the first instance for Naparima."

"Certainly."

"That being the case the best thing we can do is to have a sleep. We got none last night, and we are not likely to get any to-night."

As Carmen spoke he folded his arms and shut his eyes. I followed his example, and we knew no more until, as it seemed in about five minutes, we were roused by a terrific howl.

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, senor. 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.

"Hist, senores! Look behind!" he said.

Turning half round in our saddles and peering intently into the gloom we could just make out what seemed like a body of horsemen riding swiftly after us.

"Probably a belated foraging party returning to camp," said Carmen. "Deucedly awkward, though! But they have, perhaps, no desire to overtake us. Let us go on just fast enough to keep them at a respectful distance."

But it very soon became evident that the foraging party—if it were a foraging party—did desire to overtake us. They put on more speed; so did we. Then came loud shouts of "Halte!" These producing no effect, several pistol shots were fired.

"Dios mio!" said Carmen; "they will rouse the camp, and the road will be barred. Look here, Fortescue; about two miles farther on is an open glade which we have to cross, and which the fellows must also cross if they either meet or intercept us. The trail to the left leads to the llanos. It runs between high banks, and is so narrow that one resolute man may stop a dozen. If any of the gauchos get there before us we are lost. Your horse is the fleetest. Ride as for your life and hold it till we come."

Before the words were well out of Carmen's mouth, I let Pizarro go. He went like the wind. In six minutes I had reached my point and taken post in the throat of the pass, well in the shade. And I was none too soon, for, almost at the same instant, three llaneros dashed into the clearing, and then, as if uncertain what to do next, pulled up short.

"Whereabout was it? What trail shall we take?" asked one.

"This" (pointing to the road I had just quitted).

"Don't you hear the shouts?—and there goes another pistol shot!"

"Better divide," said another. "I will stay here and watch. You, Jose, go forward, and you, Sanchez, reconnoitre the llanos trail."

Jose went his way, Sanchez came my way.

Still in the shade and hidden, I drew one of my pistols and cocked it, fully intending, however, to reserve my fire till the last moment; I was loath to shoot a man with whom I had served only a few days before. But when he drew near, and, shouting my name, lowered his lance, I had no alternative; I fired, and as he fell from his horse, the others galloped into the glade.

"Forward! To the llanos!" cried Carmen; "they are close behind us. A fellow tried to stop me, but I rode him down."

And then followed a neck-or-nothing race through the pass, which was more like a furrow than a road, steep, stony, and full of holes, and being overshadowed by trees, as dark as chaos. Only by the marvellous cleverness of our unshod horses and almost miraculous good luck did we escape dire disaster, if not utter destruction, for a single stumble might have been fatal.

But Carmen, who made the running, knew what he was about. His seeming rashness was the truest prudence. Our pursuers would either ride as hard as we did or they would not; in the latter event we should have a good start and be beyond their ken before they emerged from the pass; in the former, there was always the off chance of one of the leading horsemen coming to grief and some of the others falling over him, thereby delaying them past the possibility of overtaking us.

Which of the contingencies came to pass, or whether the guerillas, not having the fear of death behind them, rode less recklessly than we did, we could form no idea. But their shouts gradually became fainter; when we reached the llanos they were no more to be heard, and when the moon rose an hour later none of our pursuers were to be seen. Nevertheless, we pushed on, and except once, to let our animals drink and (relieved for a moment of their saddles) refresh themselves with a roll, after the want of Venezuelan horses, we drew not rein until we had put fifty miles between ourselves and Generals Mejia and Griscelli.



CHAPTER XIX.

DON ESTEBAN'S DAUGHTER.

Ten days after our flight from San Felipe we were on the banks of the Apure. We received a warm welcome from Carmen's friend, Senor Morillones, a Spanish creole of the antique type, grave, courtly, and dignified, the owner of many square miles of fertile land and hundreds of slaves, and as rich in flocks and herds as Job in the heyday of his prosperity. He had a large house, fine gardens, and troops of servants. A grand seigneur in every sense of the word was Senor Don Esteban Morillones. His assurance that he placed himself and his house and all that was his at our disposal was no mere phrase. When he heard of our contemplated journey, he offered us mules, arms, and whatever else we required and he possessed, and any mention of payment on our part would, as Carmen said, and I could well see, have given our generous host dire offense.

We found, moreover, that we could easily engage as many men as we wanted, on condition of letting them be our co-adventurers and share in the finds which they were sure we should make; for nobody believed that we would undertake so long and arduous a journey with any other purpose than the seeking of treasure. Our business being thus satisfactorily arranged, we might have started at once, but, for some reason or other—probably because he found our quarters so pleasant—Carmen held back. Whenever I pressed the point he would say: "Why so much haste, my dear fellow? Let us stay here awhile longer," and it was not until I threatened to go without him that he consented to "name the day."

Now Don Esteban had a daughter, by name Juanita, a beautiful girl of seventeen, as fresh as a rose, and as graceful as a gazelle, a girl with whom any man might be excused for falling in love, and she showed me so much favor, and, as it seemed, took so much pleasure in my company, that only considerations of prudence and a sense of what was due to my host, and the laws of hospitality, prevented me from yielding myself a willing captive to her charms. But as the time fixed for our departure drew near, this policy of renunciation grew increasingly difficult. Juanita was too unsophisticated to hide her feelings, and I judged from her ways that, without in the least intending it, I had won her heart. She became silent and preoccupied. When I spoke of our expedition the tears would spring to her eyes, and she would question me about its dangers, say how greatly she feared we might never meet again, and how lonely she should feel when we were gone.

All this, however flattering to my amour propre, was both embarrassing and distressing, and I began seriously to doubt whether it was not my duty, the laws of hospitality to the contrary notwithstanding, to take pity on Juanita, and avow the affection which was first ripening into love. She would be my advocate with Don Esteban, and seeing how much he had his daughter's happiness at heart, there could be little question that he would pardon my presumption and sanction our betrothal.

Nevertheless, the preparations for our expedition went on, and the time for our departure was drawing near, when one evening, as I returned from a ride, I found Juanita alone on the veranda, gazing at the stars, and looking more than usually pensive and depressed.

"So you are still resolved to go, Senor Fortescue?" she said, with a sigh.

"I must. One of my principal reasons for coming to South America is to make an expedition to the Andes, and I want much to travel in parts hitherto unexplored. And who knows? We may make great discoveries."

"But you might stay with us a little longer."

"I fear we have trespassed too long on your hospitality already."

"Our hospitality is not so easily exhausted. But, O senor, you have already stayed too long for my happiness."

"Too long, for your happiness, senorita! If I thought—would you really like me to stay longer, to postpone this expedition indefinitely, or abandon it altogether?"

"Oh, so much, senor, so much. The mere suggestion makes me almost happy again."

"And if I make your wish my law, and say that it is abandoned, how then?"

"You will make me happier than I can tell you, and your debtor for life."

"And why would it make you so happy, dear Juanita?" I asked, tenderly, at the same time looking into her beautiful eyes and taking her unresisting hand.

"Why! Oh, don't you know? Have you not guessed?"

"I think I have; all the same, I should like the avowal from your own lips, dear Juanita."

"Because—because if you stay, dear," she murmured, lowering her eyes, and blushing deeply, "if you stay, dear Salvador will stay too."

"Dear Salvador! Dear Salvador! How—why—when? I—I beg your pardon, senorita. I had no idea," I stammered, utterly confounded by this surprising revelation of her secret and my own stupidity.

"I thought you knew—that you had guessed."

"I mean I had no idea that it had gone so far," I said, recovering my self-possession with a great effort. "So you and Carmen are betrothed."

"We love. But if he goes on this dreadful expedition I am sure my father would not consent, and Salvador says that as he has promised to take part in it he cannot go back on his word. And I said I would ask you to give it up—Salvador did not like—he said it would be such a great disappointment; and I am so glad you have consented."

"I beg your pardon, senorita, I have not consented."

"But you said only a minute ago that you would do as I desired, and that my will should be your law."

"Nay, senorita, I put it merely as a supposition, I said if I did make your wish my law, how then? Less than ever can I renounce this expedition."

"Then you were only mocking me! Cruel, cruel!"

"Less than ever can I renounce this expedition. But I will do what will perhaps please you as well. I will release Carmen from his promise. He has found his fortune; let him stay. I have mine to make; I must go."

"O senor, you have made me happy again. I thank you with all my heart. We can now speak to my father. But you are mistaken; it is not the same to me whether you go or stay so long as you release Salvador from his promise. I would have you stay with us, for I know that he and you are great friends, and that it will pain you to part."

"It will, indeed. He is a true man and one of the bravest and most chivalrous I ever knew. I can never forget that he risked his life to save mine. To lose so dear a friend will be a great grief, even though my loss be your gain, senorita."

"No loss, Senor Fortescue. Instead of one friend you will have two. Your gain will be as great as mine."

My answer to these gracious words was to take her proffered hand and press it to my lips.

"Caramba! What is this? Juanita? And you, senor, is it the part of a friend? Do you know?"

"Don't be jealous, Salvador," said Juanita, quietly to her lover, who had come on the balcony unperceived. "Senor Fortescue is a true friend. He is very good; he releases you from your promise. And he seemed so sorry and spoke so nobly that the least I could do was to let him kiss my hand."

"You did right, Juanita. I was hasty; I cry peccavi and ask your forgiveness. And you really give up this expedition for my sake, dear friend? Thanks, a thousand thanks."

"No; I absolve you from your promise. But I shall go, all the same."

Carmen looked very grave.

"Think better of it, amigo mio," he said. "When we formed this project we were both in a reckless mood. Much of the country you propose to explore has never been trodden by the white man's foot. It is a country of impenetrable forests, fordless rivers, and unclimbable mountains. You will have to undergo terrible hardships, you may die of hunger or of thirst, and escape the poisoned arrows of wild Indians only to fall a victim to the malarious fevers which none but natives of the country can resist."

"When did you learn all this? You talked very differently a few days ago."

"I did, but I have been making inquiries."

"And you have fallen in love."

"True, and that has opened my eyes to many things."

"To the dangers of this expedition, for instance; likewise to the fact that fighting Spaniards is not the only thing worth living for."

"Very likely; love is always stronger than hate, and I confess that I hate the Spaniards much less than I did. Yet, in this matter, I assure you that I do not in the least exaggerate. You must remember that your companions will be half-breeds, men who have neither the stamina nor the courage for really rough work. When the hardships begin they are almost sure to desert you. If we were going together we might possibly pull through, as we have already pulled through so many dangers."

"Yes, I shall miss you sorely. All the same, I am resolved to go, even were the danger tenfold greater than you say it is."

"I feared as much. Well, if I cannot dissuade you from attempting this enterprise, I must e'en go with you, as I am pledged to do. To let you undertake it alone, after agreeing to bear you company were treason to our friendship. It would be like deserting in the face of the enemy."

"Not so, Carmen. The agreement has been cancelled by mutual consent, and to leave Juanita after winning her heart would be quite as bad as deserting in face of the enemy. And I have a right to choose my company. You shall not go with me."

Juanita again gave me her hand, and from the look that accompanied it I thought that, had I spoken first—but it was too late; the die was cast.

"You will not go just yet," she murmured; "you will stay with us a little longer."

"As you wish, senorita. A few days more or less will make little difference."

Several other attempts were made to turn me from my purpose. Don Esteban himself (who was greatly pleased with his daughter's betrothal to Carmen), prompted thereto by Juanita, entered the lists. He expressed regret that he had not another daughter whom he could bestow upon me, and went even so far as to offer me land and to set me up as a Venezuelan country gentleman if I would consent to stay.

But I remained firm to my resolve. For, albeit, none perceived it but myself I was in a false position. Though I was hopelessly in love with Juanita I liked her so well that the contemplation of Carmen's happiness did not add to my own. I thought, too, that Juanita guessed the true state of the case; and she was so kind and gentle withal, and her gratitude at times was so demonstrative that I feared if I stayed long at Naparima there might be trouble, for like all men of Spanish blood, Carmen was quite capable of being furiously jealous.

I left them a month before the day fixed for their marriage. My companions were Gahra, and a dozen Indians and mestizoes, to each of whom I was enabled, by Don Esteban's kindness, to give a handsome gratuity beforehand.

To Juanita I gave as a wedding-present my ruby-ring, to Carmen my horse Pizarro.

Our parting was one of the most painful incidents of my long and checkered life. I loved them both and I think they loved me. Juanita wept abundantly; we all embraced and tried to console ourselves by promising each other that we should meet again; but when or where or how, none of us could tell, and in our hearts we knew that the chances against the fruition of our hopes were too great to be reckoned.

Then, full of sad thoughts and gloomy forebodings, I set out on my long journey to the unknown.



CHAPTER XX.

THE HAPPY VALLEY.

My gloomy forebodings were only too fully realized. Never was a more miserably monotonous journey. After riding for weeks, through sodden, sunless forests and trackless wastes we had to abandon our mules and take to our feet, spend weeks on nameless rivers, poling and paddling our canoe in the terrible heat, and tormented almost to madness by countless insects. Then the rains came on, and we were weather-stayed for months in a wretched Indian village. But for the help of friendly aborigines—and fortunately the few we met, being spoken fair showed themselves friendly—we must all have perished. They gave us food, lent us canoes, served us as pilots and guides, and thought themselves well paid with a piece of scarlet cloth or a handful of glass beads.

My men turned out quite as ill as I had been led to expect. Several deserted at the outset, two or three died of fever, two were eaten by alligators, and when we first caught sight of the Andes, Gahra was my sole companion.

We were in a pitiful plight. I was weak from the effects of a fever, Gahra lame from the effects of an accident. My money was nearly all gone, my baggage had been lost by the upsetting of a canoe, and our worldly goods consisted of two sorry mules, our arms, the ragged clothes on our backs, and a few pieces of silver. How we were to cross the Andes, and what we should do when we reached Peru was by no means clear. As yet, the fortune which I had set out to seek seemed further off than ever. We had found neither gold nor silver nor precious stones, and all the coin I had in my waist-belt would not cover the cost of a three days' sojourn at the most modest of posaderos.

But we have left behind us the sombre and rain-saturated forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco, and the fine country around us and the magnificent prospect before us made me, at least, forget for the moment both our past privations and our present anxieties. We are on the montana of the eastern Cordillera, a mountain land of amazing fertility, well wooded, yet not so thickly as to render progress difficult; the wayside is bordered with brilliant flowers, cascades tumble from rocky heights, and far away to the west rise in the clear air the glorious Andes, alps on alps, a vast range of stately snow-crowned peaks, endless and solemn, veiled yet not hidden by fleecy clouds, and as cold and mysterious as winter stars looking down on a sleeping world.

For a long time I gaze entranced at the wondrous scene, and should probably have gone on gazing had not Gahra reminded me that the day was well-nigh spent and that we were still, according to the last information received, some distance from the mission of San Andrea de Huanaco, otherwise Valle Hermoso, or Happy Valley.

One of our chief difficulties had been to find our way; maps we had none, for the very sufficient reason that maps of the region we had traversed did not at that time exist; our guides had not always proved either competent or trustworthy, and I had only the vaguest idea as to where we were. Of two things only was I certain, that we were south of the equator and within sight of the Andes of Peru (which at that time included the countries now known as Ecuador and Bolivia).

A few days previously I had fallen in with an old half-caste priest, from whom I had heard of the Mission of San Andrea de Huanaco, and how to get there, and who drew for my guidance a rough sketch of the route. The priest in charge, a certain Fray Ignacio, a born Catalan, would, he felt sure, be glad to find me quarters and give me every information in his power.

And so it proved. Had I been his own familiar friend Fray Ignacio could not have welcomed me more warmly or treated me more kindly. A European with news but little above a year old was a perfect godsend to him. When he heard that I had served in his native land and the Bourbons once more ruled in France and Spain, he went into ecstasies of delight, took me into his house, and gave me of his best.

San Andrea was well named Valle Hermoso. It was like an alpine village set in a tropical garden. The mud houses were overgrown with greenery, the rocks mantled with flowers, the nearer heights crested with noble trees, whose great white trunks, as smooth and round as the marble pillars of an eastern palace, were roofed with domes of purple leaves.

Through the valley and between verdant banks and blooming orchards meandered a silvery brook, either an affluent or a source of one of the mighty streams which find their homes in the great Atlantic.

The mission was a village of tame Indians, whose ancestors had been "Christianized," by Fray Ignacio's Jesuit predecessor. But the Jesuits had been expelled from South America nearly half a century before. My host belonged to the order of St. Francis. The spiritual guide, as well as the earthly providence of his flock, he managed their affairs in this world and prepared them for the next. And they seemed nothing loath. A more listless, easy-going community than the Indians of the Happy Valley it were difficult to imagine. The men did little but smoke, sleep, and gamble. All the real work was done by the women, and even they took care not to over-exert themselves. All were short-lived. The women began to age at twenty, the men were old at twenty-five and generally died about thirty, of general decay, said the priest. In my opinion of pure laziness. Exertion is a condition of healthy existence; and the most active are generally the longest lived.

Nevertheless, Fray Ignacio was content with his people. They were docile and obedient, went regularly to church, had a great capacity for listening patiently to long sermons, and if they died young they got so much the sooner to heaven.

All the same, Fray Ignacio was not so free from care as might be supposed. He had two anxieties. The Happy Valley was so far untrue to its name as to be subject to earthquakes; but as none of a very terrific character had occurred for a quarter of a century he was beginning to hope that it would be spared any further visitations for the remainder of his lifetime. A much more serious trouble were the occasional visits of bands of wild Indians—Indios misterios, he called them; what they called themselves he had no idea. Neither had he any definite idea whence they came; from the other side of the Cordilleras, some people thought. But they neither pillaged nor murdered—except when they were resisted or in drink, for which reason the father always kept his aguardiente carefully hidden. Their worst propensity was a passion for white girls. There were two or three mestizo families in the village, some of whom were whiter, or rather, less coppery than the others, and from these the misterios would select and carry off the best-looking maidens; for what purpose Fray Ignacio could not tell, but, as he feared, to sacrifice to their gods.

When I heard that these troublesome visitors generally numbered fewer than a score, I asked why, seeing that the valley contained at least a hundred and fifty men capable of bearing arms, the raiders were not resisted. On this the father smiled and answered, that no earthly consideration would induce his tame Indians to fight; it was so much easier to die. He could not even persuade the mestizoes to migrate to a safer locality. It was easier to be robbed of their children occasionally than to move their goods and chattels and find another home.

I asked Fray Ignacio whether he thought these robbers of white children were likely to pay him a visit soon.

"I am afraid they are," he said. "It is nearly two years since their last visit, and they only come in summer. Why?"

"I have a curiosity to see these; and I think I could save the children and give these wild fellows such a lesson that they would trouble you no more—at any rate for a long time to come."

"I should be inexpressibly grateful. But how, senor?"

Whereupon I disclosed my scheme. It was very simple; I proposed to turn one of the most likely houses in the village into a small fortress which might serve as a refuge for the children and which Gahra and I would undertake to defend. We had two muskets and a pair of double-barrelled pistols, and the priest possessed an old blunderbuss, which I thought I could convert into a serviceable weapon. In this way we should be able to shoot down four or five of the misterios before any of them could get near us, and as they had no firearms I felt sure that, after so warm a reception, they would let us alone and go their way. The shooting would demoralize them, and as we should not show ourselves they could not know that the garrison consisted only of the negro and myself.