Jack was sympathetic with the old man, but after all much less concerned with his troubles than with the possibilities of a scheme that had flashed upon him. The guerrilleros he had lately left were marching in that direction from a point somewhat to the west of the line taken by the French. There was little chance of their falling in with the foraging-party, but it was at least possible that, if they could be found, they might be able to arrange a little surprise for the French when they returned. Were they still in the neighbourhood? Jack thought it worth while to spend a few hours in discovering this, and decided to return to the plantation where he had left his horse, and ride off. Before going he asked the old Spaniard to leave unbolted a door he had noticed at the back of the house; it was evidently little used, and now almost hidden by tangled masses of creepers. "I may want to get in to-night," he said. His horse, refreshed by a good night’s rest, covered the ground at a rapid pace. Jack eagerly scanned the bare hills for signs whether of friend or foe; it was always possible that the French had turned off in his direction after visiting this or that farm or country house. But he saw nothing for nearly two hours, when, having ridden, as he estimated, some twenty miles, he suddenly heard a voice, from a rocky ridge at his left hand, calling him to halt He reined up instantly, and shouted back in Spanish: "Who are you? I am a friend." "Get off your horse and put down your pistol then." It was a peremptory order, which Jack at any other moment might have resented; but there was no time to spare, and he decided immediately to risk compliance. The speaker then emerged from behind his rock, and stood revealed in the rough yet gaudy costume of a guerrillero. "Hombre, take me to your captain," said Jack, stepping towards him. "I must speak with him instantly." The man pointed out a narrow path between the rocks, just wide enough to admit a horse, and a few minutes later Jack was led into the presence of his stalwart friend Antonio. Explanations were soon exchanged. Antonio, having become an inoffensive civilian on the fall of Saragossa, had had no difficulty in making his way to the mountains. Falling in with a portion of his old band that had been raiding French convoys along the Saragossa-Tudela road, he had, only a short time before Jack’s arrival, effected a junction with the smaller band whom Jack had met in the inn. He was now the leader of a total force of over a hundred men, among whom Jack recognized with pleasure several of his sturdiest fighters during the siege.