All night long Hamersley and the hunter remain upon the summit of the
mound. It is a night of dread anxiety, seeming to them an age.
They think not of taking sleep--they could not. There is that in their
minds that would keep them wakeful if they had not slept for a week.
Time passing does not lessen their suspense. On the contrary, it grows
keener, becoming an agony almost unendurable.
To escape from it, Hamersley half forms the resolution to descend the
hill and endeavour to steal past the sentinels. If discovered, to
attack them boldly, and attempt cutting a way through; then on into the
valley, and take such chances as may turn up for the rescue of the
refugees.
Putting it to his companion, the latter at once offers opposing counsel.
It would be more than rashness--sheer madness. At least a dozen
soldiers have been left on picket at the summit of the pass. Standing
or sitting, they are scattered all over the ground. It would be
impossible for anyone going down the gorge to get past them unperceived;
and for two men to attack twelve, however courageous the former and
cowardly the latter, the odds would be too great.
"I wouldn't mind it for all that," says Walt, concluding his response to
the rash proposal, "ef thar war nothin' more to be did beyont. But thar
is. Even war we to cut clar through, kill every skunk o' 'em, our work
'ud be only begun. Thar's two score to meet us below. What ked we do
wi' 'em? No, Frank; we mout tackle these twelve wi' some sort o'
chance, but two agin forty! It's too ugly a odds. No doubt we ked drop
a good grist o' 'em afore goin' under, but in the eend they'd git the
better o' us--kill us to a sartinty."
"It's killing me to stay here. Only to think what the ruffians may be
doing at this moment! Adela--"
"Don't gie yur mind to thinkin' o' things now. Keep your thoughts for
what we may do arterward. Yur Adela ain't goin' to be ate up that
quick, nor yet my Concheeter. They'll be tuk away 'long wi' t'others as
prisoners. We kin foller, and trust to some chance o' bein' able to git
'em out o' the clutches o' the scoundrels."
Swayed by his comrade's counsel, somewhat tranquillised by it, Hamersley
resigns himself to stay as they are. Calmer reflection convinces him
there is no help for it. The alternative, for an instant entertained,
would be to rush recklessly on death, going into its very jaws.
They lie along the ground listening, now and then standing up and
peering through the branches at the sentries below. For a long while
they hear nothing save the calls of the card-players, thickly
interlarded with _carajoz, chingaras_, and other blasphemous
expressions. But just after the hour of midnight other sounds reach
their ears, which absorb all their attention, taking it away from the
gamesters.
Up out of the valley, borne upon the buoyant atmosphere, comes the
baying of bloodhounds. In echo it reverberates along the facade of the
cliff, for a time keeping continuous. Soon after a human voice, quickly
followed by a second; these not echoes or repetitions of the same; for
one is the coarse guttural cry of a man, the other a scream in the
shrill treble of of a woman. The first is the shout of surprise uttered
by Chico, the second the shriek of alarm sent forth by Conchita.
With hearts audibly beating, the listeners bend their ears to catch what
may come next, both conjecturing the import of the sounds that have
already reached them, and this with instinctive correctness. Walt is
the first to give speech to his interpretation of it.
"They're at the shanty now," he says, in a whisper. "The two houn's guv
tongue on hearin' 'em approach. That fust shout war from the Injun
Cheeko; and the t'other air hern--my gurl's. Durnation! if they hurt
but a he'r o' her head--Wagh! what's the use o' my threetenin'?"
As if seeing his impotence, the hunter suddenly ceases speech, again
setting himself to listen. Hamersley, without heeding him, is already
in this attitude.
And now out of the valley arise other sounds, not all of them loud. The
stream, here and there falling in cataracts, does something to deaden
them. Only now and then there is the neigh of a horse, and
intermittently the bark of one of the bloodhounds, as if these animals
had yielded, but yet remain hostile to the intruders. They hear human
voices, too, but no shout following that of Chico, and no scream save
the one sent up by Conchita.
There is loud talk, a confusion of speakers, but no report of firearms.
This last is tranquillising. A shot at that moment heard by Hamersley
would give him more uneasiness than if the gun were aimed at himself.
"Thank God!" he gasps out, after a long spell of listening, "Miranda has
made no resistance. He's seen it would be no use, and has quietly
surrendered. I suppose it's all over now, and they are captives."
"Wal, better thet than they shed be corpses," is the consolatory
reflection of the hunter. "So long as thar's breath left in thar bodies
we kin hev hope, as I sayed arready. Let's keep up our hearts by
thinkin' o' the fix we war in atween the wagguns, an' arterwards thet
scrape in the cave. We kim clar out o' both in a way we mout call
mirakelous, an' we may yit git them clar in someat the same fashion.
'Slong's I've got my claws roun' the stock o' a good gun, wi' plenty o'
powder and lead, I ain't a-goin' to deespar. We've both got that,
tharfor niver say die!"
The hunter's quaint speech is encouraging; but for all, it does not
hinder him and his comrade from soon after returning to a condition of
despondency, if not actual despair.
A feeling which holds possession of them till the rising of the sun, and
on till it reaches meridian.
When the day breaks, with eyes anxiously scrutinising, they look down
into the valley. A mist hangs over the stream, caused by the spray of
its cataracts.
Lifting at length, there is displayed a scene not very different from
what they have been expecting.
Around the ranche they see horses picketed and soldiers moving among
them or standing in groups apart; in short, a picture of military life
in "country quarters."
Their point of view is too far off to identify individual forms or note
the exact action carried on. This last, left to conjecture, is filled
up by fancies of the most painful kind.
For long hours are they constrained to endure them--up to that of noon.
Then, the notes of a bugle, rising clear above the hissing of the
cascades, foretell a change in the spectacle. It is the call, "Boots
and saddles!" The soldiers are seen caparisoning their horses and
standing by the stirrup.
Another blast gives the order to "Mount!" Soon after, the "Forward!"
Then the troop files off from the front of the jacal, disappearing under
the trees like a gigantic glittering serpent. The white drapery of a
woman's dress is seen fluttering at its head, as if the reptile had
seized upon some tender prey--a dove from the cote--and was bearing it
off to its slimy lair.
For another half-hour the two men on the mound wait with nervous
impatience. It requires this time to make the ascent from the centre of
the valley to the upper plain. After entering among the trees, the
soldiers and their captives are out of sight; but the clattering of
their horses' hoofs can be heard as they strike upon the rock-strewn
path. Once or twice a trumpet sound proclaims their movements upon the
march.
At length the head of the troop appears, the leading files following one
after the other along the narrow ledge. As they approach the summit of
the pass the track widens, admitting a formation "by twos." At the
trumpet call they change to this, a single horseman riding at their
head.
He is now near enough for his features to be distinguished, and
Hamersley's heart strikes fiercely against his ribs as he recognises
them. If he had any doubt before, it is set at rest now. He sees Gil
Uraga, certain of his being the man who caused the destruction of his
caravan. His own horse, ridden by the robber, is proof conclusive of
the crime.
He takes note that the lancer colonel is dressed in splendid style, very
different from the dust-stained cavalier who the day before passed over
the desert plain. Now he appears in a gorgeous laced uniform, with
lancer cap and plume, gold cords and aiguillettes dangling adown his
breast; for he has this morning made his toilet with care, in
consideration of the company in which he intends travelling.
Neither Hamersley nor the hunter hold their eyes long upon him; they are
both looking for another individual--each his own. These soon make
their appearance, their white dresses distinguishable amid the darker
uniforms. During the march their position has been changed. They are
now near the centre of the troop, the young lady upon her own mare
Lolita, while the Indian damsel is mounted on a mule. They are free,
both hand and limb, but a file in front, with another behind, have
charge of them. Farther rearward is another group, more resembling
captives. This is composed of three men upon mules, fast bound to
saddle and stirrup, two of them having their arms pinioned behind their
backs. Their animals are led each by a trooper who rides before. The
two about whose security such precaution has been taken are Don Valerian
and the doctor, the third, with his arms free, is Chico. His
fellow-servant Manuel, also on mule-back, is following not far behind,
but in his attitude or demeanour there is nothing to tell of the
captive. If at times he looks gloomy, it is when he reflects upon his
black treason and infamous ingratitude. Perhaps he has repented, or
deems the prospect not so cheerful as expected. After all, what will be
his reward? He has ruined his master and many others beside, but this
will not win him the love of Conchita.
The spectators feel somewhat relieved as Colonel Miranda comes in sight.
Still more as the march brings him nearer, and it can be seen that he
sits his horse with no sign of having received any injury; and neither
has Don Prospero. The elaborate fastenings are of themselves evidences
that no hurt has happened to them. It has been a capture without
resistance, as their friends hoped it would, their fears having been of
a conflict to end in the death of the exiles.
One by one, and two by two, the troops come filing on, till the leader
is opposite the spot where the two spectators stand crouching among the
trees. These are dwarf cedars, and give the best cover for concealment.
Thoroughly screened by their thickly-set boughs and dense dark foliage,
Hamersley and the hunter command a clear view of everything below. The
distance to the summit of the pass is about two hundred yards in a
slanting direction.
As the lancer colonel approaches the spot where the picket is posted, he
halts and gives an order. It is for the guard to fall in along with the
rest of the troop.
At this moment a similar thought is in the minds of the two men whose
eyes are upon him from above. Wilder is the first to give expression to
it. He does so in an undertone,--
"Ef we ked trust the carry o' our rifles, Frank."
"I was thinking of it," is the rejoinder, equally earnest. "We can't
I'm afraid it's too far."
"I weesh I only had my old gun; she'd a sent a bullet furrer than that.
A blue pill inter his stomach 'ud simplerfy matters consid'rable. 'Tall
events it 'ud git your gurl out o' danger, and mayhap all on 'em. I
b'lieve the hul clanjamfery o' them spangled jay birds 'ud run at
hearin' a shot. Then we ked gie 'em a second, and load an' fire half a
dozen times afore they could mount up hyar--if they'd dar to try it.
Ah! it's too fur. The distance in these hyar high purairas is desprit
deceivin'. Durned pity we kedn't do it. I fear we can't."
"If we should miss, then--"
"Things 'ud only be wuss. I reck'n we'd better let'm slide now, and
foller arter. Thar boun' straight for the Del Norte; but whether or no,
we kin eesy pick up thar trail."
Hamersley still hesitates, his fingers alternately tightening on his
gun, and then relaxing. His thoughts are flowing in a quick current--
too quick for cool deliberation. He knows he can trust his own aim, as
well as that of his comrade. But the distance is doubtful, and the
shots might fall short. Then it would be certain death to them; for the
situation is such that there could be no chance to escape, with fifty
horsemen to pursue, themselves mounted upon mules, and therewith be
reached without difficulty. They might defend themselves on the mound,
but not for long. Two against fifty, they would soon be overpowered.
After all, it will be better to let the troop pass on. So counsels the
ex-Ranger, pointing out that the prisoners will be carried on to New
Mexico--to Albuquerque, of course. He and his comrade are Americans,
and not proscribed there. They can follow without fear. Some better
opportunity may arise for rescuing the captives. Their prison may offer
this; and from what they have heard of such places it is probable
enough. A golden key is good for opening the door of any gaol in
Mexico.
Only one thought hinders Hamersley from at once giving way to this
reasoning--the thought of his betrothed being in such company--under
such an escort, worse than unprotected!
Once more he scans the distance that separates him from the soldiers,
his gun tightly grasped.
Could their colonel but suspect his proximity at that moment, and what
is passing through his mind, he would sit with little confidence in his
saddle, bearing himself less pompously.
Caution, backed by the ex-Ranger's counsel, asserts its sway, and the
Kentuckian relaxes his grasp on the gun, dropping its butt to the
ground.
The last files, having cleared the gap, are formed into a more compact
order; when, the bugle again sounding "Forward," the march is resumed,
the troop striking off over the plain in the direction whence it came.