Before the words were well out of Carmen's mouth, I let Pizarro go. He went like the wind. In six minutes I had reached my point and taken post in the throat of the pass, well in the shade. And I was none too soon, for, almost at the same instant, three _llaneros_ dashed into the clearing, and then, as if uncertain what to do next, pulled up short. "Whereabout was it? What trail shall we take?" asked one. "This" (pointing to the road I had just quitted). "Don't you hear the shouts?--and there goes another pistol shot!" "Better divide," said another. "I will stay here and watch. You, José, go forward, and you, Sanchez, reconnoitre the llanos trail." José went his way, Sanchez came my way. Still in the shade and hidden, I drew one of my pistols and cocked it, fully intending, however, to reserve my fire till the last moment; I was loath to shoot a man with whom I had served only a few days before. But when he drew near, and, shouting my name, lowered his lance, I had no alternative; I fired, and as he fell from his horse, the others galloped into the glade. "Forward! To the llanos!" cried Carmen; "they are close behind us. A fellow tried to stop me, but I rode him down." And then followed a neck-or-nothing race through the pass, which was more like a furrow than a road, steep, stony, and full of holes, and being overshadowed by trees, as dark as chaos. Only by the marvellous cleverness of our unshod horses and almost miraculous good luck did we escape dire disaster, if not utter destruction, for a single stumble might have been fatal. But Carmen, who made the running, knew what he was about. His seeming rashness was the truest prudence. Our pursuers would either ride as hard as we did or they would not; in the latter event we should have a good start and be beyond their ken before they emerged from the pass; in the former, there was always the off chance of one of the leading horsemen coming to grief and some of the others falling over him, thereby delaying them past the possibility of overtaking us. Which of the contingencies came to pass, or whether the guerillas, not having the fear of death behind them, rode less recklessly than we did, we could form no idea. But their shouts gradually became fainter; when we reached the llanos they were no more to be heard, and when the moon rose an hour later none of our pursuers were to be seen. Nevertheless, we pushed on, and except once, to let our animals drink and (relieved for a moment of their saddles) refresh themselves with a roll, after the want of Venezuelan horses, we drew not rein until we had put fifty miles between ourselves and Generals Mejia and Griscelli. CHAPTER XIX. DON ESTEBAN'S DAUGHTER.