g with Sorillo and some of his
officers, when a messenger rode up the ravine. His horse had travelled
far and fast, while he looked worn out with fatigue.

Springing to the ground, he saluted, while the chief cried, "What news,
Sanchez? it should be worth hearing!"

"I think it is," replied the man, with a significant smile. "General
Canterac is marching on Lima at the head of a Spanish army."

"How many men has he?"

"Nine thousand, perhaps ten--horse, foot, and guns. The advance-guard
is not far off."

"Thanks, Sanchez.--Let the men assemble, Barros: a dozen to stay here,
the rest to follow me. Has Cerdena sent word to Lima? Good. He knows
his business.--Juan, you will just have time to ride clear, and not
much to spare. No doubt Canterac has sent some of his troops by the
near cut."

All was bustle and activity in the ravine. Officers issued commands,
troopers saddled their horses, muskets were seen to, an extra supply of
ammunition was served out, and in a very short time everybody save the
few men left to guard the ravine was ready to march.

"What can your handful of men do against Canterac's army?" I asked
Sorillo as we rode away.

"Not much beyond cutting off a few stragglers," he replied, smiling;
"but we shall obtain information of which our leaders in Lima seem to
stand badly in need."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE "SILVER KEY" AGAIN.

Since these events happened I have asked myself many times whether I
did right or wrong, and even now I scarcely know how to decide. Those
who blamed me said I was Sorillo's guest, and should not have abused
his confidence. Others urged that I was bound, if possible, to prevent
him putting a man to death unlawfully. All, however, agreed that none
but a madman would have embarked on so preposterous an enterprise.

The idea occurred to me suddenly. The guerillas, split up into groups,
had gone, some this way, some that, to watch the movements of the
Royalist troops. Sorillo had kept me company till we cleared the pass,
when he, too, with a word of farewell, rode away. It was now dusk,
and, as the chief had truly said, there was no time to waste; yet I did
not move. Right in my path, with outstretched arms and pitiful,
beseeching face, stood Rosa Montilla. I knew it was but the outcome of
a fevered brain; yet the vision seemed intensely real.

The girl's eyes looked at me reproachfully, her lips moved as if in
speech. I fancied I could hear again her