the mountains. He had been away two months, and certainly will not have
started again so soon. Shall I lead you to his house at once?"

"Do so; it is to see him that I have come to this town. He worked for a
long time with a friend of mine some years ago, and I have brought a
message from him. I may be some time talking with him, so when I go in you
can tie up your mules for a while."

"That is his house," the man said presently.

It lay in the outskirts of the town, and was neater than the generality of
houses, and the garden was a mass of flowers. They dismounted, handed over
the mules to their owner, and walked to the door. An Indian of some five-
and-forty years came out as they did so.

"Are you Dias Otero?" Harry asked.

"The same, senor."

"I have just arrived from England, and bring a letter to you from Senor
Barnett, with whom you travelled for two or three years some time ago."

The man's face lit up with pleasure. "Will you enter, senor. Friends of
Senor Barnett may command my services in any way. It is a delight to hear
from him. He writes to me sometimes, but in these troubles letters do not
always come. I love the senor; there never was a kinder master. He once
saved my life at the risk of his own. Is there any hope of his coming out
again?"

"I do not think so, Dias. He is strong and well, but I do not think he is