"Hum! That is true," the monk muttered, struck by the logic of the answer; "who can they be!" "I do not know, but I will soon tell you," the Carib answered. And before the monk had the time to ask him what his scheme was, Omopoua glided through the tall grass and disappeared, leaving Fray Arsenio greatly disconcerted at this sudden flight, and extremely annoyed at finding himself thus left alone in the middle of the desert. A few minutes elapsed, during which the monk tried, though in vain, to hear the sound which the Indian's sharp sense of hearing had caused him to catch long before, amid the confused rumours of the savannah. The monk, believing himself decidedly deserted by his guide, was preparing to continue his journey, leaving to Providence the care of bringing him safely into port, when he heard a slight rustling in the bushes close to him, and the Indian reappeared. "I have seen them," he said. "Ah!" the monk replied; "And who are they?" "White men like you." "Spaniards in that case?" "Yes, Spaniards." "All the better," Fray Arsenio continued, whom the good news completely reassured; "are they numerous?" "Five or six at least; they are proceeding like yourself, towards the hatto, where, as far as I could understand, they are very eager to arrive." "That is famous; where are they at this moment?" "Two stones' throw at the most. According to the direction they are following, they will pass the spot where you are now standing." "Better still. In that case we have only to wait." "You can do so, if you think proper; but I have no wish to meet them." "That is true, my friend," the monk remarked, with a paternal air. "And possibly such a meeting would not be agreeable to you; so pray accept my thanks for the manner in which you have guided me hitherto." "You are quite resolved on waiting for them, then? If you like, I can enable you to avoid them." "I have no motive for concealing myself from men of my own colour. Whoever they may be, I feel sure that I shall find friends in them." "Very good. Your affairs concern yourself, and I have nothing to do with them. But the sound is drawing nearer, and as they will speedily arrive, I will leave you, for it is unnecessary for them to find me here." "Farewell." "One last recommendation: if by chance they had a fancy to ask who served as your guide, do not tell them." "It is not at all probable they will ask this." "No matter. Promise me, if they do, to keep my secret." "Very good. I will be silent, since you wish it; although I do not understand the motive for such a recommendation." The monk had not finished the sentence, ere the Indian disappeared. The horsemen were rapidly approaching. The galloping of their steeds echoed on the ground like the rolling of thunder. Suddenly several shadows, scarcely distinguishable in the obscurity, rose as it were in the midst of the darkness, and a sharp voice shouted-- "Who goes there?" "A friend!" the monk answered.