"Dios!" grumbled Hilario. "There are many strings to this Spanish
guitar. What a row when they discover that I have played a Cuban
danzon upon it." The old man seemed less surly than before, and
O'Reilly felt ashamed of his recent suspicions.
"Is the way clear?" he inquired.
"As far as the railroad, yes. We heard voices there, and came
back. We will have to cut our way forward after we cross the
track. Now then, follow me without a sound."
Leading his horse by the bit ring, Hilario moved out into the
clearing, followed once more by his three companions. Concealment
was out of the question now, for their only covering was the
darkness. O'Reilly had the uncomfortable feeling that the
cavalcade bulked monstrous big and must be visible at a great
distance; he experienced much the sensations of a man crossing a
sheet of thin ice with nerves painfully strained, awaiting the
first menacing crack. In spite of all precautions the animals made
a tremendous racket, or so it seemed, and, despite Hilario's
twistings and turnings, it was impossible to avoid an occasional
loop of barbed wire, therefore flesh and clothing suffered
grievously. But at length the party brought up under the railroad
embankment and paused. Out of the voids to their right came a
faint murmur of voices. As carefully as might be the four men
ascended the slope, crossed the rails, and descended into the
ditch on the other side.
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