The majordomo quickly crawled back into the draw where the black mare
patiently awaited him. Leading her, he started cautiously down, taking
advantage of every tuft of cover until, arrived at the foot of the
draw, he discovered that some oaks effectually screened his quarry from
sight. Reasoning quite correctly that the same oaks as effectually
screened him from his quarry, Pablo mounted and galloped straight
across country for his man.
He rode easily, for he was saving the mare's speed for a purpose. The
fugitive, casting a guilty look to the rear, saw him coming and paused,
irresolute, but observing no evidences of precipitate haste, continued
his retreat, which (Pablo observed, grimly) was casual now, as if he
desired to avert suspicion.
Pablo pulled the mare down to a trot, to a walk. He could afford to
take his time and it was not part of his plan to bungle his work by
undue baste. The fugitive was crossing through a patch of lilac and
Pablo desired to overhaul him in a wide open space beyond, so he urged
the mare to a trot again and jogged by on a parallel course, a hundred
yards distant.
"_Buena dias, senor_," he called, affably, and waved his hand at the
stranger, who waved back.
On went the old majordomo, across the clear space and into the oaks
beyond. The fugitive, his suspicions now completely lulled, followed
and when he was quite in the center of this chosen ground, Pablo
emerged from the shelter of the oaks and bore down upon him.
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