ghroad, we
cantered our horses about a quarter of a mile, and then turned up a
narrow lane which separated our property from that of Don Felipe
Montilla.

Suddenly checking his horse, Jose whispered, "See to your pistols, my
boy; there are horsemen coming this way."

CHAPTER XIX.

FALSE PLAY, OR NOT?

There was no actual reason why we should feel alarmed; but Lima was an
unsafe place in those days, and people who travelled at night generally
went well armed.

As yet the bend in the road prevented us from seeing any one, but
listening intently, we distinctly heard the sounds of a horse's hoofs.

"There's only one, Jose," I whispered; and he nodded. I do not know
that we should have taken any notice of the man, but for his efforts to
conceal his identity. We came upon him suddenly, while the moon shone
full in his face, and before he had time either to draw his poncho
closer or to pull the slouch hat over his eyes. Both these things he
did quickly, but meanwhile we had seen, and a look of keen surprise
shot across Jose's face. Recovering himself instantly, he said
cheerfully,--

"Good-night, senor. Fine night for a ride."

"So you seem to think," replied the other surlily.

"You have come from the town, I see," said Jose, for we lived eastward
of Lima; "is all quiet there?"

"Why shouldn't it be? Kindly allow me to pass; I am in a hurry,"
responded our morose stranger.

"Then 'twas lucky that you knew of this short cut," remarked Jose,
nothing daunted by the fellow's manner. "Well, good-night, senor.
Pleasant ride!" and he drew his horse aside that the stranger might
pass.

"He isn't any too polite!" I remarked, as digging his spurs into his
horse the fellow galloped off. "He's a fine horseman, though, and has
the air of a military man, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," agreed Jose; "he certainly rides like a soldier."

"But he isn't in uniform."

"No; he has left his uniform at home, I expect."

"He must be pretty familiar with Lima to know this short cut."

"I daresay he is. But didn't you recognize him? Well, I suppose it's
hardly likely you would; you were only a little chap at the time, and
perhaps never saw him. He's a rascal to the marrow!"

"But who is he?" I asked impatiently.

"Pardo Lurena."

"Lurena? Haven't I heard my father speak of him?"

"Very likely. He was one of the 'young bloods' of Peru, and, being a
cadet of a wealthy family, able to do much as he pleased.