The dale was one of those rare spots of the arid Sierra made fertile by an ample supply of water, and every available foot, as Cristoval could see, was under cultivation. From the edge of the cliff the long sinuous lines of terraces on the opposite hills were distinctly visible in the moonlight, following the contour of the valley-wall far to the east and west.
They stood for several minutes, Rava gazing longingly upon the peaceful cottages of her people, their shelter so near, yet denied. Cristoval, strongly tempted to take the risk of entrusting themselves to some of the denizens, was about to make the suggestion when both were startled by the neighing of a horse. It came, apparently, from a point just below, and was answered immediately by another, more remote. Rava clutched his arm with a quick catching of breath.
"_Santa Maria!_" interjected he, in an undertone. "So they are here before us!" His faint hope of aid was dashed. While Rava clung, trembling, to his arm, he debated. The plain was occupied. To cross it in this brilliant moonlight would be fatal. Even the hills were no longer safe; parties would be scouring them with the earliest dawn, and in their last march darkness had made it impossible not to leave traces. Cristoval glanced at the dark eyes turned anxiously to his.
"There is but one thing left for us to do, Ñusta Rava. We must trust ourselves to yonder mountains."
"Oh, my good friend," she whispered, in terror; "in those mountains we are lost! We shall starve—go mad! They are most dreadful. You know not, Viracocha."
"Less to be dreaded than the wolves around us," he replied, sombrely. "There is naught else. We can hide there until the hunt is given over. How is your strength. Are you very tired?"
"I can go," she said, with a brave effort to conceal the tremor in her voice.
"Then come. If need be, I can carry you; but we must make speed."
They followed the encircling hills, and descried presently the smouldering fire of a bivouac, far out in the valley. An hour late, nearing the mouth of the canyon, they found new danger. It was picketed. Fortunately they were warned by the live embers of the campfire left by an indiscretion for which Cristoval returned fervent thanks, and they passed by a detour well up the mountainside. Safely beyond, they crept down to the bank of the torrent foaming noisily through the gulch, and while Rava waited Cristoval went on his knees in search of the trail which he knew instinctively would be there. He found it presently, a mere trace left by herdsmen in years of going and coming to and from the mountain pastures, and to be followed with difficulty in the shadow of the canyon. It was rough, and grew rougher as they proceeded, but in its rockiness lay safety, for it held no tell-tale tracks. They stumbled on in fevered haste, Rava heedless of weariness and the bruising stones alike. Cristoval gave what aid he could, supporting her weight when possible, guiding her steps among the bowlders, and she struggled on without complaint.