Midnight brought a moist, warm breeze and a few formless clouds
which served at times to dimly obscure the moon. Watching the
clouds, O'Reilly hoped that they might prove to be the heralds of
a storm. None came. When the moon had finally crept down into the
tree-tops old Hilario stepped upon his cigarette, then began
silently to saddle up. The others followed with alacrity, and fell
in behind him as he led the way into the forest. They no longer
ventured to speak aloud; nothing but the occasional sound of a
hoof striking upon root or stone, the creak of leather, or the
rustle of branches against passing bodies gave evidence that
mounted men were en route.
When they had covered a couple of miles Hilario reined in and the
others crowded close. Ahead, dimly discernible against the night
sky, there appeared to be a thinning of the woods. After listening
for a moment or two, Hilario dismounted and slipped away; the
three riders sat their saddles with ears strained. Once more the
myriad voices of the night became audible--the chirping of
crickets, the strident call of tree-toads, the whining undertone
of the mosquitoes.
Hilario returned with word that all was well, and each man
dismounted to muffle the feet of his horse with rags and strips of
gunny-sack provided for the purpose. Then, one by one, they moved
forward to the edge of the clearing.
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