“Tell you what, Señor Morano keeps good horse-flesh,” remarked Darry as they spun along. “This is better than a drive in Lincoln Park.” “Or Central Park either,” added Frank. “Oh, my father keeps just as good horses,” came from Hockley. “He’s got a trotter that can beat all creation for stepping out on a smooth road like this.” So far they had passed but few turnouts on the highway. But now they saw approaching a carriage with a single seat, drawn by a team of horses which were covered with foam. On the seat sat two men, both evidently Americans. “Reckless drivers,” murmured Enrique Morano, as the other carriage came closer. “Be careful there!” he called out, in Spanish, and pulled sharply to one side. “Clear the track!” shouted one of the men, in English, and the tone of voice showed that he had been drinking. “We don’t get out of the way for no sun-baked native!” And he cracked his whip loudly. The carriage came closer and it was only by a few inches that it missed striking Enrique Morano’s turnout. As it swept by the boys got a good look at the occupants. “Dan Markel!” almost shouted Hockley and Mark, in a breath. “That was Markel, just as sure as you are born,” came from Frank. “Who would have expected to meet him here?” “We ought to go after him,” continued Hockley. “You evidently know the man,” said Enrique Morano, bringing his team to a halt and gazing inquiringly at the boys. “He is the man who robbed Hockley,” explained Professor. “He was captured once, down on the Orinoco, but he escaped.” “Ah, I see. Yes, he should be caught. And the other man, what of him?” He looked at the boys again, but all shook their heads. They could not remember having seen the individual before. “Guess he’s another victim,” was Mark’s comment. “I don’t believe Markel had any money of his own. He has struck up an acquaintance with some newcomer and is doing the sponging act.” “Or else he is spending the proceeds of another robbery,” said Sam. “Do you wish to go after the man?” asked Enrique Morano. “Oh, well, you might as well let him go,” yawned Hockley. “If we make another complaint and he is locked up, we may have to stay here as witnesses against him.” Hockley would have liked to see Dan Markel behind the bars but he was afraid that the rascal might tell of some things which would prove discreditable to both of them. “I’d really like to know if that other man was a victim,” mused Frank, as they continued on their way. “If he is, he ought to be warned.” There the matter was dropped, and for the time being Dan Markel was forgotten. When they came back to Caracas at nightfall they looked in several directions for the rascal but could catch no sight of him. The truth of the matter was that Markel had recognized several of the boys on the instant of passing them, and although partly intoxicated he still had wit enough left to keep hidden.