closer, behind. But the lieutenant gave no sign—until, when around the shoulder and for a moment out of sight by the pursuit, he sprang aside.
"Quick, now!"
They dived for cover and found it in a heap of large, brush-screened rocks. They waited, peering and listening. Pretty soon they might hear the hoofs of the horses. The two riders cantered into sight. They were quite near. One was black-bearded—wore a large ribboned hat and blue and red coat and leathern leggins, the same as Lieutenant Melgares' soldiers had worn. He was a Spanish dragoon. He carried a lance, a shield and short muskatoon or escopeta hung at his saddle.
The other was dark, without whiskers: an Indian. He wore a blue cotton shirt and leggins wrapped in white from moccasins to knees. His hair fell in two braids. He, also, carried a lance and shield.
They saw nobody ahead of them, and began to move cautiously, craning, and checking their horses. Little by little they came on. Now they were within forty paces.
"This will do," the lieutenant whispered. "We have them. Lay down your pistol and stand up so they can see you're unarmed. Then walk out.
