n as forming his devilish resolve, the assassin gives his horse a
prick of the spur, and passes on towards the _sumac_ grove, entering at
the same place as before, like a tiger skulking back to the quarry it
has killed, and been chased away from.

Once inside the thicket, he proceeds along the _tapir_ path, groping his
way in the darkness. But he remembers it well, as well he may; and
without going astray arrives at a spot he has still better reason to
recall; that where, but a little more than twelve hours before, he
supposes himself to have committed murder! Delayed along the narrow
tortuous track, some time has elapsed since his entering among the
_sumacs_. Only a short while, but long enough to give him a clearer
light, for the day has meanwhile dawned, and the place is less shadowed,
for it is an open spot where the sanguinary struggle took place.

It is sufficiently clear for him, without dismounting, to distinguish
objects on the ground, and note, which at a glance he does, that one he
expected to see is not to be seen. No murdered man there; no body,
living or dead!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A PARTY NOT TO BE PURSUED.

For some seconds, Rufino Valdez is in a state of semi-bewilderment, from
his lips proceeding exclamations that tell of surprise, but more
chagrin. Something of weird terror, too, in the expression upon his
sallow, cadaverous face, as the grey dawn dimly lights it up.

"_Mil demonios_!" he mutters, gazing distractedly on the ground. "What
does this mean? Is it possible the _gringo's_ got away? Possible? Ay,
certain. And his animal, too! Yes, I remember we left that, fools as
we were, in our furious haste. It's all clear, and, as I half
anticipated, he's been able to climb on the horse, and's off home!
There by this time, like enough."

With this double adjuration, he resolves upon dismounting, to make
better inspection of the place, and, if possible, assure himself whether
his victim has really survived the murderous attack. But just as he has
drawn one foot out of the stirrup and is balancing on the other, a sound
reaches his ear, causing him to reseat himself in the saddle, and sit
listening. Only a slight noise it was, but one in that place of
peculiar significance, being the hoof-stroke of a horse.

"Good!" he ejaculates in a whisper, "it must be his."

Hearkening a little longer, he hears the sound again, apparently further
off, and as his practised ear tells him, the dis