Acting on this, General Herran rode without stopping until nightfall, reaching just after dusk--dusk comes swiftly enough in the tropics--one of the primitive little hostelries kept for the accommodation of travelers to and from Bogota. Here, as is usual in such places, there was a large number of guests intending to spend the night. This posada, or inn, was a one-storied, rambling affair consisting of three rooms and a verandah sheltered by the overhanging eaves of a thatched roof. All the rooms were filled with people, most of them lying on mats spread on the floor; the verandah was similarly occupied. In the dim light from smoky lanterns it was difficult to tell who these people were. Herran, confident that David was among them, appealed to the proprietor, a stolid looking peon, for information. "You have a Yankee here, Senor?" "No, Senor." "A Yankee came to-day from Honda?" "No, Senor." "He was riding alone to Bogota?" "No, Senor." "A young man on a bay horse?" "No, Senor." "Is there a foreigner here?" "No, Senor." "A foreigner passed here to-day on a bay horse?" "No, Senor." "Caramba, hombre! Have you ever seen a foreigner here?" "No--yes, Senor." "To-day?" "No, Senor." Exasperated by what he considered the stupidity of the landlord, Herran addressed, in a loud voice, the various guests who were preparing to pass the night on such improvised beds as they could get for themselves. "Senores, I am looking for a young man, a foreigner, a Yankee, who is riding to Bogota on a bay horse. He must be here. Have you seen him?" There was a confused murmur. A number of the men sat up on their mats and repeated energetically the landlord's negative. Others grumblingly denounced all Yankees as robbers and disturbers of the country's peace. One young man, dressed in the uniform of an army officer, recognizing Herran's rank, politely offered to share his mat with him, suggesting, at the same time, that he could pursue his search to much better advantage in the morning. As further inquiries brought out nothing new, Herran accepted this officer's hospitality, wearily resigning himself to the conclusion that David had been mysteriously spirited away, and was about to be shot by a lot of insane peons, led on by the ridiculous Pedro. So it seemed to him as he sank into a nightmare-ridden sleep.