One boldly lighted a cigarrito and the other encouraged by his example did likewise.

Hark, what was that?
"A lizard in the grass," said Carlos.

"Yes, certainly," said Juan.

They continued to smoke their cigarritos blissfully, and talk of the pretty, dark girls that they had known in far-away Spain.
As they smoked and talked, and found smoke, talk and company pleasant, they did not see a shadow glide swiftly from the bushes and pass to the rear of the log prison that they were guarding so well.

Nor could they see the shadow, since the building was now between them, resolve itself again into the figure of a man, who stood upright against the wall, his face at one of the little slits of windows.
Their own talk was so pleasant, and the sound of their voices was such a cure for lonesomeness on a dark night, that they did not hear the man at the little slit of a window utter a faint warning hiss.