“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—­”