the
rearing mustang. The moon was shining full upon the face. I stooped
down to examine it. A single glance was sufficient. I had never seen
the features before. They were coarse and swart, and the long black
locks were matted and woolly. He was a zambo; and, from the
half-military equipments that clung around his body, I saw that he had
been a guerillero. Lincoln was right.

"Wal, Cap'n," said he, after I had concluded my examination of the
corpse, "ain't he a picter?"

"You think he was waiting for us?"

"For us or some other game--that's sartin."

"There's a road branches off here to Medellin," said Raoul, coming up.

"It could not have been for us: they had no knowledge of our intention
to come out."

"Possibly enough, Captain," remarked Clayley in a whisper to me. "That
villain would naturally expect us to return here. He will have learned
all that has passed: Narcisso's escape--our visits. You know he would
watch night and day to trap either of us."

"Oh, heavens!" I exclaimed, as the memory of this man came over me;
"why did I not bring more men? Clayley, we must go on now. Slowly,
Raoul--slowly, and with caution--do you hear."

The Frenchman struck into the path that led to the rancho, and rode
silently forward. We followed in single file, Lincoln keeping a
look-out some paces in the rear.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

CAPTURED BY GUERILLEROS.

We emerged from the forest and entered the fields. All silent. No sign
or sound of a suspicion. The house still standing and safe.

"The guerillero must have been waiting for someone whom he expected by
the Medellin road. Ride on, Raoul!"

"Captain," said the man in a whisper, and halting at the end of the
_guardaraya_ (enclosure).

"Well?"

"Someone passed out at the other end."

"Some of the domestics, no doubt. You may ride on, and--never mind; I
will take the advance myself."

I brushed past, and kept up the guardaraya. In a few minutes we had
reached the lower end of the pond, where we halted. Here we dismounted;
and, leaving the men, Clayley and I stole cautiously forward. We could
see no one, though everything about the house looked as usual.

"Are they abed, think you?" asked Clayley.

"No, it is too early--perhaps below, at supper."

"Heaven send! we shall be most happy to join them. I am as hungry as a
wolf."

We approached the house. Still all silent.

"Where are the dogs?"

We entered.

"Strange!--no one st