o seams of the stratified rock,
and at bottom by stones laid along the border; these heavy enough to
keep them in place against the strongest gust of wind.

All this done, they breathe freely, now feeling secure; and after a last
look at the screen to assure himself of its being reliable, the gaucho
turns to his companions, quietly remarking, "Now, _muchachos_, I fancy
we need have no more fear of Mr Tormenta."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER.

As they are now in the midst of amorphous darkness, it might be imagined
nothing could be done but keep their place, or go groping idly about.
Not so, however. Gaspar has no intention of letting the time pass in
such an unprofitable manner; instead, he at once resumes speech, and
along with it action.

"Now, young masters," he says, making a movement towards the place where
they had left their horses, "since we are shut up here, I don't see why
we shouldn't make ourselves as comfortable as we can under the
circumstances; and the best way to begin will be with what's usually the
winding up of a day's work--that's supper. Our bit of rough riding has
given me the appetite of a wolf, and I feel as if I could eat one
red-raw. Suppose we have another set-to at the shoulder of mutton?
What say you, _senoritos_?"

They answer in the affirmative, both being as hungry as himself.

"We sha'n't have to eat in darkness either," he proceeds. "Luckily,
I've brought with me a bit of candle--best wax at that. A costly affair
it was when whole; being one of a pair I had to pay for when my poor
mother died, to be used at her funeral, and for which the rascally
_padres_ charged me five _pesos_ a-piece--because consecrated, as they
called out. As they stood me so much, I thought I might as well save
the stumps; which I did, and have got one of them here. Starting out,
it occurred to me we might some time need it, as you see we do now; so I
slipped it into my saddle-bags."

While speaking, he has moved on to his horse, and got beside him without
much straying; for his former visit to the cavern has made him familiar
with its topography, and he could go anywhere through it without a
glimmer of light to guide him. Plunging his hand into his ample
_alparejas_, and rummaging about for a short while, he gets hold of the
bit of unburnt candle--souvenir of a melancholy ceremony, which,
however, he had long ceased to mourn over, since his mother has been
dead for many years.