For one second Phil lingered. The fifth horse, if he left it there, would afford the means of catching other horses to pursue them; for he knew that a single outlaw would not dare attempt to follow. With a few swift strokes of his knife he severed the bridle and then with his open hand struck the restless animal across the flanks. As he swung himself into his saddle he saw it plunge eagerly away into the dense jungle, happy to be again free of its domestic yoke. As the lad dashed ahead after his companions, he heard the low moaning note of the concha (a shell bugle), a signal of warning used by the ladrones of the mountains. The sound was insidious. It seemed to come from a long way off. Yet Phil knew the operator could not be a mile away. The low tones were known to travel many miles, even farther than the high notes of a bugle. To those whose ears had not been trained to listen to the warning note, the sound might be mistaken for the coo of a wood pigeon. The lad’s heart leaped as he foresaw that the two men who had gone to bring the missing canoe were between them and the only avenue of escape and their trained ears had already heard the warning sound. If they had started back in the boat when they heard the warning, they would remain concealed until the fugitives had drawn within close range and then would open fire upon them. Even though the persons of the party might escape the hastily aimed shots, the great bulk of a horse could never escape and the crippling of one animal would mean at the least their recapture, and probably death to all four. With the energy of despair he drove his horse forward to join those in the lead. Breathlessly, trembling with his terrible anxiety, he reached Maria’s side. “Do you know of any other road?” he gasped. “There!” he exclaimed hopelessly, as a low coo came from the direction of the bungalow, “they have answered.” “I know of a road,” the girl returned breathlessly, “but it is across the river, and is very narrow and uneven.” Phil gazed frantically at the swift current as it appeared intermittently through vistas in the trees while they sped along. Once across undiscovered they would be safe. “But Juan, he cannot swim; he will be afraid,” he cried hoarsely. “Never fear for him. It was necessary Colonel Salas should think so in order to persuade him to sit in front of you. He fell into my trap very obligingly,” she returned, a half smile curving the corners of her mouth. “The river then is our only chance,” Phil declared decidedly. “It will be death for us all to attempt to pass the two armed outlaws.” “These horses are all good swimmers,” Maria answered hurriedly. “Just hold on to the saddle and give them their heads. I know where we can land, so follow me. Look out for Juan,” she ended in sisterly fear.