y are not choking with thirst," said Benito, "these demons of
darkness will not dare come within the circle of the fire. But, indeed,
they are often choking with thirst, and then--"

"Then!" interrupted one of the domestics, in a tone of anxiety.

"Then," continued the herdsman, "then they don't regard either light or
fire; and if we are not determined to defend the water against their
approach, we had better get out of their way altogether. These animals
are always more thirsty than hungry."

"How when they have drunk?" asked Baraja, whose countenance, under the
light of the fire, betrayed considerable uneasiness.

"Why, then they seek to appease their hunger."

At this moment a second cry from the jaguar was heard, but farther off
than the first. This was some relief to the auditory of Benito, who,
relying upon his theory, was satisfied that the animal was not yet at
the extreme point of suffering from thirst. All of them preserved
silence--the only sounds heard being the crackling of the dry sticks
with which Baraja kept the fire profusely supplied.

"Gently there, Baraja! gently!" called out the vaquero, "if you consume
our stock of firewood in that fashion, you will soon make an end of it,
and, _por Dios_! _amigo_, you will have to go to the woods for a fresh
supply."

"There! hold your hand," continued he, after a pause, "and try to make
the fagots last as long as possible, else we may get in darkness and at
the mercy of the tiger. He is sure to come back again in an hour or
two, and far thirstier than before."

If Benito had desired to frighten his companions, he could not have
succeeded better. The eyes of one and all of them were anxiously bent
upon the heap of dried sticks that still remained by the fire, and which
appeared scarcely sufficient to last for another hour. But there was
something so earnest in the tone of the ex-herdsman, despite the jesting
way in which he spoke, that told he was serious in what he had said.

Of course, Don Estevan had postponed the interview with Tiburcio; and
the young man, still ignorant that it was to Don Estevan he really owed
his life, did not think of approaching to offer him thanks. Moreover,
he saw that the moment would be ill-timed to exchange compliments of
courtesy with the chief of the expedition, and for this reason he
remained standing where Cuchillo had left him.

Nevertheless Don Estevan could not hinder himself from casting an
occasional glanc