Having reached the top of the hill overlooking the sheltered ledge chosen by David and Herran for their impromptu celebration, the volunteers kept right on. Led by Pedro and his two banner-bearers, they plunged down the steep, winding trail, crowding upon each other, shouting and laughing, filling the narrow space with most unmilitary disorder. In the meantime the two horsemen tried their best to reach a point as near as possible to the top of the trail before the volunteers began the descent. In this they failed, and the inevitable collision with the front ranks of the peons took place half way up the hillside. Here they met Pedro and his immediate followers, behind whom pressed, with increasing energy, the whole rabble of peons. But the dejected burro, whose duty it was to carry the leader of these ragged cohorts to victory, refused to be hurried by those behind him. The more he was urged the greater was his deliberation in picking his way among the treacherous stones covering the trail. Thumps and blows failed to arouse his enthusiasm, and with every fresh difficulty presented by rock or sudden dip in the pathway, he stopped to take a careful survey of the surrounding obstacles before proceeding with his journey. Memories of past disaster had taught him the value of caution that a younger, less experienced burro might have failed to observe. But the horses of David and Herran, although ancient enough, were not afflicted with recollections of former mishaps, and so plunged into the ranks of the peons without regard for consequences. "Hug the side of the road," cautioned Herran in a low voice. "I'll take the middle and try to distract the attention of these people from you." "Salute, Senor!" cried Pedro, attempting as courteous a greeting as his burro would allow. "What news from Panama?" Not to be outdone in courtesy, Herran pulled back his horse from the folds of the flag into which he was patriotically heading, and offered his "pistol" to "El Rey." "Ah!" exclaimed Pedro, his eyes fairly snapping with astonishment; "it is General Herran! Bueno, Senor General, we go to bring Panama back to Colombia." "That is well," replied the other, diplomatically ignoring the implied reproach; "with such brave men you will surely succeed, Senor Capitan." "And the Yankees?" queried Pedro, smacking his lips after a long draught from the General's bottle. "Doubtless you will find them in Panama." The news that this was General Herran, the man whom Panama had made famous, spread like wildfire among the volunteers, who crowded together excitedly, bent on hearing the latest bulletin from the land they were pledged to recapture. Shouts of amazement, indignation, derision echoed along the trail--expressions of hostility that might have appalled one less cool than Herran. But he pretended not to notice these demonstrations, and devoted himself to Pedro, who, he perceived, was moved by his flattery.