“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.”