air, the sky, the distant horizon, he knew not which. Was he still
dreaming? A strange shiver crept over his skin as if the air had grown
suddenly chill. Then another mysterious voice arose, incredulous, half
mocking, but equally distinct and clear.

"Caramba! What is this? You are wandering, friend Pancho. You are still
smarting from his tongue. He has the grant confirmed by his brigand
government; he has the POSSESSION, stolen by a thief like himself; and
he has the Corregidors with him. For is he not one of them himself, this
Judge Peyton?"

Peyton! Clarence felt the blood rush back to his face in astonishment
and indignation. His heels mechanically pressed his horse's flanks, and
the animal sprang forward.

"Guarda! Mira!" said the voice again in a quicker, lower tone. But
this time it was evidently in the field beside him, and the heads and
shoulders of two horsemen emerged at the same moment from the tall ranks
of wild oats. The mystery was solved. The strangers had been making
their way along a lower level of the terraced plain, hidden by the
grain, not twenty yards away, and parallel with the road they were now
ascending to join. Their figures were alike formless in long striped
serapes, and their features undistinguishable under stiff black
sombreros.

"Buenas noches, senor," said the second voice, in formal and cautious
deliberation.

A sudden inspiration made Clarence respond in English, as if he had not
comprehended the stranger's words, "Eh?"