CHAPTER XXII
Not until the day following his escape from the subterranean river, did Torres reach San Antonio. He arrived on foot, jaded and dirty, a small Indian boy at his heels carrying the helmet of Da Vasco. For Torres wanted to show the helmet to the Jefe and the Judge in evidence of the narrative of strange adventure he chuckled to tell them.
First on the main street he encountered the Jefe, who cried out loudly at his appearance.
“ Is it truly you, Senor Torres?” The Jefe crossed himself solemnly ere he shook hands.
The solid flesh, and, even more so, the dirt and grit of the other’s hand, convinced the Jefe of reality and substance.
Whereupon the Jefe became wrathful.
“ And here I’ve been looking upon you as dead!” he exclaimed. “That Caroo dog of a José Mancheno! He came
