d has
several officers with him; they will pass within a few minutes."

Miss Starland now took the hand of her brother and dropped lightly to
the ground.

"It was quite interesting, Jack: I hope you weren't scared."

"My heart was in my mouth; I gave you up; if you had gone over, it
would have been your own fault."

"But I didn't go over."

Martella seized the bridle, pulling so hard that the pony's head was
drawn horizontal. A rod or two and they reached the broadening path
and turned abruptly off among the trees and undergrowth. Where the
vegetation was so profuse and dense, a little way was sufficient to
hide them from any one passing over the path.

As always, Martella assumed the lead, the horse still reluctantly
following with the others around and behind him. Suddenly the beast
refused to go farther.

"What's the trouble?" asked the Major.

"Something has frightened him," suggested Captain Guzman.

The guide was savagely stamping. Then he stopped and tugged again at
the rein. The horse dragged back but allowed himself to be drawn a
little farther. All came to a pause, grouping themselves together,
where one was hardly visible to the others.

"What was it?" asked the Major, in a whisper, of Martella.

"He smelled a serpent in front of us, and I stamped him to death."

"Was it venomous?" the American was prompted to ask.

"I think it was a coral snake, but he was not large."

"If he had bitten you?"

"Pardon me, Major, he did not."

"There may be others near us."

"Perhaps; their bite is sure death; we must be ready to crush them
under our feet--hist! here come General Yozarro and the officers."

CHAPTER XXIV.

There were six of them, all coming out as clearly in the powerful
moonlight as if the sun were in the heavens. The stout form of General
Yozarro was at the front, walking at a moderate pace up the slope.

The moment he entered the field of vision, Major Starland heard
Martella gasp, as if catching his breath. Then the American felt a
hand upon his rifle, as if the other were trying to draw it from his
grasp.

"My chance can never be better," whispered the deserter.

"I will not allow murder to be done; a brave man would not ask it."

The native loosened his straining grip upon the weapon, and all
silently peered from the gloom at the procession filing past. None of
the spectators spoke, but each caught the sounds of fitful
conversation among the Atlamalcans. No one could