him. He peered into the dusk, but could only gather that he was in a
forest of huge trees on the side of a mountain. High above the wind was
surging. He had a curious sense of travelling through the depths of the
sea in a vacuum, the roar of suspended waters just over his head.
Behind, between the giant trees, was a moving column of horses and men.

"Where are we?" he asked Anastacio.

"In the mountains, in a redwood forest. My pueblo is not far."

"What mountains? What forest?"

"That you will not know."

"Where is Adan?"

"On a stout mustang between two faithful followers of mine."

"They are unnecessary. He would not leave me."

"Perhaps not. Sometimes the white man lies and sometimes he is true."

Roldan sat up; his tired head had rested against the shoulder of his
captor.

"Suppose I get behind you," he said. "It will be more comfortable for us
both. That is, if you can trust me," with an attempt at sarcasm.

"I trust you. Get behind."