“Where we were yesterday?”

“Yes; and he said he would be either there or hereabout when I returned, and I am quite up to time.  But Mejia takes sudden resolves sometimes.  He may have gone to beat up Griselli’s quarters at San Felipe, or be making a dash across the llanos in the hope of surprising the fortified post of Tres Cruces.”

“What shall we do then; wait here until he comes back?”

“Or ride out on the llanos in the direction of Tres Cruces.  If we don’t meet Mejia and his people we may hear something of them.”

“I am for the llanos.”

“Very well.  We will go thither.  But we shall have to be very circumspect.  There are loyalist as well as patriot guerillas roaming about.  They say that Morales has collected a force of three or four thousand, mostly Indios, and they are all so much alike that unless you get pretty close it is impossible to distinguish patriots from loyalists.”

“Well, there is room to run if we cannot fight.”

“Oh, plenty of room,” laughed Carmen.  “But as for fighting—­loyalist guerillas are not quite the bravest of the brave, yet I don’t think we three are quite a match for fifty of them, and we are not likely to meet fewer, if we meet any.  But let us adventure by all means.  Our horses are fresh, and we can either return to the sierra or spend the night on the llanos, as may be most expedient.”

Ten minutes later we were mounted, and an hour’s easy riding brought us to the plain.  It was as pathless as the ocean, yet Carmen, guided by the sun, went on as confidently as if he had been following a beaten track.  The grass was brown and the soil yellow; particles of yellow dust floated in the air; the few trees we passed were covered with it, and we and our horses were soon in a like condition.  Nothing altered as we advanced; sky and earth were ever the same; the only thing that moved was a cloud, sailing slowly between us and the sun, and when Carmen called a halt on the bank of a nearly dried-up stream, it required an effort to realize that since we left our bivouac in the hills we had ridden twenty miles in a direct line.  Hard by was a deserted hatto, or cattle-keeper’s hut, where we rested while our horses grazed.

“No sign of Mejia yet,” observed Carmen, as he lighted his cigar with a burning-glass.  “Shall we go on toward Tres Cruces, or return to our old camping-ground in the hills?”

“I am for going on.”

“So am I. But we must keep a sharp lookout.  We shall be on dangerous ground after we have crossed the Tio.”

“Where is the Tio?”

“There!” (pointing to the attenuated stream near us).

“That!  I thought the Tio was a river.”

“So it is, and a big one in the rainy season, as you may have an opportunity of seeing.  I wish we could hear something of Mejia.  But there is nobody of whom we can inquire.  The country is deserted; the herdsmen have all gone south, to keep out of the way of guerillas and brigands, all of whom look on cattle as common property.”