Alvarez wrapped himself in his blanket after the fashion of the others, and lay down, but still sleep would not come.  He knew that it was far in the night and he wished to be rested and fresh for the next day, but he lay awake, nevertheless.  A half hour passed, and then came that plaintive cry of the wolf again.  As before, it seemed to be wonderfully distinct and full of character, but it was nearer now.  Francisco Alvarez raised himself on his elbow, and heard it a second and then a third and fourth time.  After that only the heavy silence of the forest.

“The same as before,” murmured the Spaniard to himself.  “The wolf howled four times.  What a coincidence!  Bah, I’m becoming a superstitious fool!”

He resolutely closed his eyes and sought slumber once more.  It was far past midnight now, and weary nature began at last her task.  His nerves were soothed.  A soft breeze fanned his eyelids with drowsy wing, the forest wavered, swam away, and he slept.

Red dawn was coming when Francisco Alvarez awoke.  The fire was dead and cold, and the men around it yet slumbered.  The two sentinels, one to the right and one to the left, still sat on the logs, backs toward him.  He took one glance to see if the prisoner, too, slept, and then he leaped to his feet with a cry.  The prisoner was not there!  Nor was he anywhere in the camp.

“Up! up! you rascals!” shouted the Spaniard.  “The boy is gone! escaped.  Luiz, Pedro, in what manner have you watched!”

He rushed to the sentinel on the right, Luiz, and struck him sharply across the back with the flat of his sword.

“Wretch!” he cried, “you have slept!” and he struck him again.

Luiz did not stir, even under the sharp blow.  He remained, sitting on the log, back to his chief, shoulders bent forward, as if he were in a slumber too profound to be disturbed by anything short of a crash of thunder in his ear.  Alvarez, furious with anger, seized him by the shoulder and dragged him back.  Then he uttered another cry, in which rage and surprise were mingled in equal portions.  But Luiz, the sentinel, still said nothing.  He could not.  A gag was fixed firmly in his mouth, his arms were bound to his side, his legs to the tree on which he sat, and his rifle had been left standing between his knees and against his shoulder, as if held by one who watched.

The unfortunate sentinel gazed up at his chief with wide-open, appealing eyes, and, leaving him with the men, who were now crowding around he ran to the other sentinel.  Pedro, only to find him gagged and bound, exactly like his comrade.  It was some minutes before either could speak, after they were cut loose and their gags removed, and then their tales were the same.

“I watched.  I watched well, Captain,” said Luiz, “by the Holy Virgin I swear it!  Never in this whole terrible night, not for a moment, have my eyes closed.  I saw nothing, I heard nothing but a wolf howling in the forest, and then, long after midnight, I was suddenly seized from behind by powerful hands.  I could not move, so strong were they.  I was gagged and bound and I could see only the phantom figures of the men who did it.  I know no more.”