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.”