The worrying noise continued, but, amid the roar find barking of the dogs, Carlos could distinguish the voices of men, uttered in low hurried tones, as if addressing the dogs and also one another. All at once the conflict appeared to cease, for the animals became silent, except the hound, who at intervals gave out his deep loud bray. In a moment more he, too, was silent. Carlos knew by this silence that Cibolo had either been killed upon the spot, or, having been attacked by men, had sheered off. In either case it would be of no use waiting his return. If alive, he knew that the dog would follow and overtake him. Without further delay, therefore, he turned his horse's head, and galloped back down the ravine. CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN. On arriving at the month of the ravine he halted--not in the middle of the plain, but under the shadow of the rocks--the same rocks where the hunters had placed themselves in ambush. He did not dismount, but sat in his saddle, gazing up the canon, and listening for some token of the expected pursuit. He had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object approaching him. It gave him joy, for he recognised Cibolo coming along his trail. The next moment the dog was by his stirrup. The cibolero bent down in his saddle, and perceived that the poor brute was badly cut and bleeding profusely. Several gashes appeared along his side, and one near his shoulder exhibited a flap of hanging skin, over which the red stream was pouring. The animal was evidently weak from loss of blood, and tottered in his tracks. "Amigo!" said Carlos, "you have saved my life to a certainty. It's my turn to save yours--if I can." As he said this he dismounted, and, taking the dog in his arms, climbed back into the saddle. For a while he sat reflecting what to do, with his eyes turned in the direction from which he expected the pursuit. He had now no doubt as to who were the occupants of the cave. The bay of the hound was satisfactory evidence of the presence of the yellow hunter, and of course the zambo was along with him. Carlos knew of no other bloodhound in the settlement--the one heard must be that of the mulatto. For some minutes he remained by the rocks, considering what course he had best take.