Parting from the despised carcase of the ram the hunters press onward,
the younger with mental resolve to return to it, come back what way they
will. Its grand spiral horns have caught his fancy: such a pair would
grace any hall in Christendom; and, though he cannot call the trophy his
own, since it fell not to his gun, he intends appropriating it.
Only for a brief moment does the young Englishman reflect about them; in
the next they are out of his mind. For, glancing at the Mexican's face,
he again sees that look of anxious uneasiness noted before. It had
returned soon as the exciting incident of the sheep-shooting was over.
And knowing the cause, he shares it; no more thinking about the chase or
its trophies.
They say but little now, having sufficient work to occupy them without
wasting time in words. For beyond the opening where the _carneros_ were
encountered, they find no path--not so much as a trace made by animals--
and have to make one for themselves. As the trees stand close, with
_lianas_ interlacing, the Mexican is often compelled to use his
_machete_ for hewing out a passage-way; which he does with an
accompaniment of _carrambas_! thick as the underwood he chops at.
Thus impeded, they are nearly an hour in getting through the
_chapparal_, though the distance passed is less than the half of a mile.
But at length they accomplish it, arriving on the _mesas_ outer edge,
close to that of the cliff. There the tall timber ends in a skirting of
low bushes, and their view is no longer obstructed. North, east, and
west the _llano_ is under their eyes to the horizon's verge, twenty
miles at least being within the scope of their vision.
They aim not to scan it so far. For at a distance of little more than
ten they observe that which at once fixes their glance: a dun yellowish
disc--a cloud--with its base resting upon the plain.
"Smoke, no--but dust!" exclaims the _gambusino_, soon as sighting it;
"and kicked up by the heels of horses--hundreds of them. There can be
nothing else out there to cause that. Horses with men on their backs.
If a _caballada_ of wild mustangs, the dust would show more scattered.
_Indios, por cierto! Carra-i_!" he says in continuation, the shade on
his brow sensibly darkening, as with a quick glance over his shoulder he
sees real smoke in that direction. "What fools we've been to kindle
fires! Rank madness. Better to have eaten breakfast raw. I myself
most to blame of any; I should have known the danger. By this they'll
have spied our camp smoke--that of our shots, too. Ah, _muchacho_!
we've been foolish in every way."
Almost breathless from this burst of regret and self-recrimination, he
is for a while silent; his heart beating audibly, however, as with gaze
fixed on the far-off cloud, he endeavours to interpret it. But the dark
cloud soon becomes less dense, partially dispersed, and under it appears
something more solid; a clump of sombre hue, but with here and there
sparkling points. No separate forms can as yet be made out; only a
mass; but for all that, the _gambusino_ knows it to be composed of
horses and men, the corruscations being the glint of arms and
accoutrements, as the sun penetrates through to them.
"What a pity," he exclaims, resuming speech, "I didn't think of asking
Don Estevan for the loan of his telescope! If we only had it here now!
But I can see enough without it; 'tis as I feared. No more hunting for
us to-day; but fighting ere the sun goes down--perhaps ere it reach
meridian. _Mira_! the thing's splitting into two. You see, senorito?"
The senorito does see that the dust-cloud has parted in twain, as also
the dark mass underneath. And now they can distinguish separate forms;
horses with men on their backs, and a more conspicuous glittering of
arms, because of their being in motion.
"Ah, yes!" adds the Mexican, with increased gravity of tone, "_Indios
bravos_ they are, hundreds of them. If Apaches, as sure they must,
Heaven help us all! I know what they mean by that movement. They've
sighted the camp smoke, and intend coming on along both sides of the
Cerro. That's why they've broken into two bands. Back to camp, as fast
as our legs can carry us! We've not a minute--not a second--to lose.
_Vamos_!"
And back for camp they start, not to spend time on the way as when
coming from it, but in a run and rush along the path already opened--
past the dead sheep, past the spring, and the strung-up turkeys, without
even staying to look at these, much less think of taking them along.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The occupants of the miners' camp, men, women, and children, are up and
active now. Some are at work about the wagons, pouring water over their
wheels to tighten the tyres, loose from the shrinking of the wood;
others have set to mending harness and pack-saddles; while still others,
out on the open plain, are changing the animals to fresh spots of
pasturage. A small party is seen around the carcase of a bullock, in
the act of skinning it to get beefsteaks for breakfast.
Several fires have been kindled, for the people are many, and have
separate messes, according to rank and vocation. Around these are the
women and grown girls, some bending over red earthenware pots that
contain chocolate and coffee, others on their knees with the _metate_
stone in front, and _metlapilla_ in hand, crushing the boiled maize into
paste for the indispensable _tortillas_. The children play by the
lake's edge, wading ankle-deep into the water, plashing about like
little ducks; some of the bigger boys, who have improvised a rude
tackle, endeavouring to catch fish. In this remote tarn there are such,
as it has an affluent stream connecting it with the Rio Horcasitas--now
nearly dry, but at times having a volume of water sufficient for the
finny tribes to ascend to the lake, into which several species have
found their way.
Within the space enclosed by the wagons--the _corral_--three tents have
been erected, and stand in a row. The middle one is a large square
marquee, the two flanking it of the ordinary bell shape. The marquee is
occupied by the senior partner and his senora; the one on the right by
their daughter and an Indian _moza_--her waiting-maid; the third affords
shelter and sleeping quarters for the two Tresillians.
All three are for a time empty, their occupants having stepped out of
them. As known, Henry Tresillian has gone up to the summit of the
Cerro, and his father is moving about the camp in the company of the
_mayor-domo_, with an eye to superintendence of everything; while Don
Estevan, his wife, and daughter, have strolled out along the lake's edge
to enjoy the refreshing breeze wafted over its water. The three
promenaders have but made one turn along the sandy shore, and back
again, when they hear a cry which not only alarms them, but all within
and around the camp--
"_Los Indios_!"
It has been sent from above--from the head of the ravine; and everybody
looks up--all eyes raised simultaneously. To see two men standing on a
projecting point of rock, their figures sharply outlined against the
blue background of sky; at the same time to recognise them as the
_gambusino_ and Henry Tresillian. Only for an instant are these at a
stand; only to shout down those terrible words of warning; then both
bound into the gorge, and come on at a rush, with risk of breaking their
necks.
At its bottom they are met by an excited, clamorous crowd; surrounded
and assailed by a very tempest of interrogations. But to these they
vouchsafe no answer beyond that implied in their shout; instead, push on
to where Don Estevan and the elder Tresillian, now together, stand
awaiting them. The senior partner is the first to speak, addressing
himself to Vicente:
"You've seen Indians, Don Pedro? Where?"
"Out upon the _llano_, your worship--to north-eastward."
"You're sure of it being Indians?"
"Quite sure, senor. We were able to make horses with men on them; the
men unlike any with a white skin, but just as those with a red one.
Your worship can take my word for their being Indians."
"I can, and do. But from what you say, it seems they're still a good
way off. How far, think you?"
"Ten miles or more, when we came away from the place where we saw them.
They can't be much nearer yet, as we've not been over ten minutes on the
way."
The quick time made by the hunters in return is attested by their
breathing; both with nostrils agape and breasts heaving up and down as
runners at the close of a hard-contested race.
"'Tis well they're at such a distance," rejoins Don Estevan. "And lucky
your having sighted them before they got nearer."
"Ah! senor, they'll soon be near; for I know they've sighted us--at
least the smoke of our camp, and are already making for it. Light
horsemen as they don't need long to traverse ten miles--on a plain like
this."
"That's true," assents the _ci-devant_ soldier, with an air of troubled
impatience. "What do you advise our doing, Don Pedro?"
"Well, for one thing, your worship, we mustn't remain here. We must
clear out of this camp as soon as possible. In an hour--ay, less--it
may be too late."
"Your words want explaining, Don Pedro. I don't comprehend them. Clear
out of the camp! But whither are we to go?"
"_Arriba_!" answers the guide, pointing to the gorge, "up yonder."
"But we can't take the animals there. And to carry up our goods there
wouldn't be time."
"I know it, your worship. And glad we may be to get ourselves safe up."
"Then we're to abandon all? Is that what you advise?"
"It is. I'm sorry I can give no better advice. There's no alternative
if we wish to live."
"To lose everything," puts in the junior partner, "goods, animals,
machinery! That would be a terrible calamity. Surely, Senor Vicente,
we can defend the camp; our people are all well armed."
"Impossible, Don Roberto; impossible were they ever so well armed. From
what I could make out of the Indian party it numbers hundreds to our
tens, sufficient of them to surround us on every side. And even if we
could keep them off during daylight, at night they'd crawl close enough
to set the camp on fire. Wagons, tilts, every stick and stitch of them
are dry as tinder; the very pack-saddles would be ablaze with the first
spark that fell on them."
"But how know we that these Indians are hostile? After all, it may be
some friendly band; perhaps Opatas?"
"No!" exclaims the _gambusino_ impatiently. "I saw enough to know
they're not Opatas, nor _mansos_ of any kind; enough to be sure they're
_bravos_, and almost sure, Apaches."
"Apaches!" echo several voices in the surrounding, in tones proclaiming
the dread with which this name inspires the heart of every Sonoreno.
Every man present feels a creeping sensation in the skin of his head, as
though the scalping-knife were being brandished around it.
"They're coming from the direction where Apaches would come," pursues
Vicente. "Besides, they have no baggage; not a woman or child to be
seen with them. All men, mounted and armed."
"Indeed, if it be so," rejoins Don Estevan, with brow now darkly
shadowed, "we can expect no friendship from them."
"No mercy either!" adds the gold-seeker. "Nor have we a right to expect
it, after the treatment they've had at the hands of Captain Gil Perez
and his men."
All know to what Vicente alludes: a massacre of Apache Indians by a
party of Mexican soldiers, after being lured and lulled into false
security by professions of peace--cold-blooded and cruel, as any
recorded in the annals of frontier warfare.
"I've said it. I'm good as sure they're Apaches," repeats the
_gambusino_, more impressively. "And it would be madness, sheer
insanity, to await them here. We must up to the _mesa_."
"But will we be safe there?"
"As in a citadel. No fortress ever contrived, or made by hand of man,
is strong as the Cerro Perdido. Twenty men could hold it against as
many hundreds--ay, thousands. _Carramba_! We may thank the Virgin for
providing us with such a secure retreat; so handy, and just in the nick
of time."
"Then let us to it," assents Don Estevan, after a brief consultation
with his partner, who no longer opposes the step, though by it they may
lose their all. "We'll follow your advice, Senor Vicente; and you have
our authority to order everything as it seems best to you."
"I've only one order to give, your worships; that's _arriba_! Up, all
and everybody!"