however hard it is to think so--some of them may
still be near, and possibly a party gone back to their old _tolderia_.
I'll have to give that a wide berth anyhow; so to get across this open
stretch without being seen, if there be anyone on it to see me, will
need manoeuvring. As it is, there don't appear to be a soul, that's so
far satisfactory."

Again he sweeps the grassy expanse with searching glance, his face
brightening up as he observes a flock of ostriches on one side, on the
other a herd of deer--the birds stalking leisurely along, the beasts
tranquilly browsing. Were there Indians upon the plain, it would not be
so. Instead, either one or the other would show excitement. The
behaviour of the dumb creatures imparting to him a certain feeling of
confidence, he says, continuing the soliloquy:--

"I think I may venture it. Nay, I must; and there's no help for't. We
have to get home somehow--and soon. Ah! the Senora! poor lady! What
will she be thinking by this time? And what when we get back? _Valga
me Dios_! I don't know how I shall ever be able to break it to her, or
in what way! It will sure drive her out of her senses, and not much
wonder, either. To lose one of them were enough, but both, and--Well,
no use dwelling on it now; besides, there's no time to be lost. I must
start off at once; and, maybe, as I'm riding on, I'll think of some plan
to communicate the sad news to the Senora, without giving her too sudden
a shock. _Pobrecita_!"

At the pitying exclamation he gives a last interrogative glance over the
plain; then, with a word to his horse, and a touch of the spur, he moves
out into the open, and on; the other animal following, as before, its
rider maintaining the same distance and preserving the self-same
attitude, silent and gestureless as ever!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

SKULKING BACK.

While the gaucho and his silent companion were still in halt by the edge
of the _sumac_ wood, another horseman could be seen approaching the
place, but on the opposite side of the stream, riding direct down to the
ford. Descried at any distance, his garb, with the caparison of his
horse--the full gaucho panoply of bitted bridle, breast-plate, _recado_,
and _caronilla_--would tell he is not an Indian. Nor is he; since this
third traveller, so early on the road, is Rufino Valdez. As
commissioner to the Tovas tribe, he has executed the commission with
which he was entrusted, with something besides; an