"
"My own horse is in the thicket," whispered Guest, hurriedly, in
Maruja's ear. "I have measured him with the pinto before now.
Give me your blessing, and I will bring him back if he be alive."
She pressed his hand and said, "Go." Before the astonished
servants could identify the strange escort of their mistress, he
was gone.
It was already quite dark. To any but Guest, who had made the
topography of La Mision Perdida a practical study, and who had
known the habitual circuit of the mayordomo in his efforts to avoid
him, the search would have been hopeless. But, rightly
conjecturing that he would in his demented condition follow the
force of habit, he spurred his horse along the high-road until he
reached the lane leading to the grassy amphitheatre already
described, which was once his favorite resort. Since then it had
participated in the terrible transformation already wrought in the
valley by the railroad. A deep cutting through one of the grassy
hills had been made for the line that now crossed the lower arc of
the amphitheatre.
His conjecture was justified on entering it by the appearance of a
shadowy horseman in full career round the circle, and he had no
difficulty in recognizing Pereo. As there was no other exit than
the one by which he came, the other being inaccessible by reason of
the railroad track, he calmly watched him twice make the circuit of
the arena, ready to ride towards him when he showed symptoms of
slackening his speed.
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