"IT'S THE RATTLESNAKE."
On again reaching the summit Henry Tresillian finds his father there
with Don Estevan and most of the men. These last, under the direction
of the _ci-devant_ soldier, are collecting large stones, and laying them
all round the head of the gorge.
One might fancy them building a breastwork, but nothing of that kind is
their intention, none such being needed. As Vicente had said, it is a
fortress of nature's construction, stronger than any ever built by the
hand of man, and would defy breaching by all the artillery in the world.
Ammunition is what the stones are being collected for, to be rolled
down the slope in case the enemy should attempt scaling it. Most of
them have to be brought up out of the gorge itself, as but few lie loose
on the summit. A work that, with so many and willing hands, takes up
but short time, and soon a ridge appears in horseshoe shape around the
spot where the path leads out upon the level.
Others of the men have gone on to the glade by the spring, where the
women and children are now assembled, the effects brought up from below
lying scattered about them. Some, still in affright, are moving
excitedly to and fro; others, with greater courage and calmness, have
taken seats on the boxes and bundles.
The senora and her daughter, with the family servants, form a group
apart, the eyes of Gertrude scanning with anxious interrogative glance
each new party as it appears on the edge of the opening. She has been
told that Henrique is still upon the plain, and fears he may linger
there too long.
As yet no move has been made to set up the tents, or otherwise establish
camp. There are some who cling to the hope that after all it may not be
necessary. The Indians have not yet shown themselves at the southern
end, and nothing is known of their character save by conjecture. As
that is based on but a distant view of them, it is little reliable; and
the guide is directed by Don Estevan to hasten north again, and see what
can be seen further.
This time he takes the telescope with him, and signals are arranged
before starting. Gun signals, of course: a single shot to say the
Indians are still advancing towards the Cerro; two, that they are near;
a third, denoting their character made out; while a fourth will proclaim
them _bravos_, and of some hostile tribe.
By this it might appear as if the _gambusino_ bore upon his person a
very battery of small arms; while in reality he has only his rifle, with
a pair of single-barrelled pistols of ancient fashion and doubtful fire.
But, as before, he is to be accompanied by Henry Tresillian, whose
double gun will make good any deficiency in the signal shots--should all
four be needed.
This settled, off the two go again on their old track, first passing
through the glade by the _ojo de agua_. There the English youth tarries
a moment--only a brief one--to exchange a word with the senora, and a
tender glance with Gertrude, whose eyes follow him no longer in fear,
but now all admiration. She has been told of the strange parting
between him and his favourite steed--her favourite as well--and the
fearlessness he displayed, staying down upon the plain after all the
others had left it.
"Such courage!" she mentally exclaims, as she sees him dash on after the
guide. "_Dios mio_! he dare do anything."
Proceeding at a run, in less than fifteen minutes' time the videttes
arrive at their former place of observation on the projecting point of
the cliff; and without delay Vicente lengthens out the telescope,
raising it to his eye. To see, at first view, what justifies their
sounding the first and second signals: the savages still coming on for
the Cerro, and now near!
"Fire off both your barrels!" he directs on the instant; and, without
lowering the glass, "Allow a little time between, that our people mayn't
mistake it for a single shot."
The English youth, elevating the muzzle of his gun, presses the front
trigger, and then, after an interval, the back one, and the shots in
succession go reverberating along the cliff in echo upon echo.
Scarce have these died away when the Mexican again speaks, this time not
only to say the other two signals are to be given, but with words and in
tone telling of even more. "_Carramba_!" he cries out, "just as I
expected, and worse! Apaches, and the cruellest, most hostile of all,
Coyoteros! Quick, _muchacho_!" he continues, still keeping the
telescope to his eye, "pull the pistols out of my belt and fire off
both."
Again two loud cracks, with a few seconds of time between, resound along
the cliff, while the dusky horsemen, now near enough for their
individual forms to be distinguishable by the naked eye, are seen to
have come to a halt, seated on their horses and gazing upward. But
through the glass Vicente sees more, which still further excites him.
"_Por todos demonios esta El Cascabel_!" (By all the devils it's the
Rattlesnake!)
"El Cascabel!" echoes the English youth, less puzzled by the odd name
than surprised at the manner of him who has pronounced it. "Who is he,
Don Pedro?"
"Ah, senorito! you'll find that out too soon--all of us, I fear, to our
cost. Yes!" he goes on talking, with the telescope still upheld, "'tis
El Cascabel, I can make out the death's head on his breast, original
pattern of that on my own. He and his made the copy, the brutes burning
it into my flesh in sheer wanton mockery. _Malraya_! we're in for it
now; a siege till the crack of doom, or till all of us are starved dead.
No hope of escaping it."
"But if we surrender, might they not be merciful?"
"Merciful! surrender to the Rattlesnake! That would be as putting
ourselves in the power of the reptile he takes his name from. You
forget Gil Perez and his massacre."
"No, indeed. But was it Coyoteros he massacred?"
"Coyoteros; and of this very band. El Cascabel's not like to have
forgotten that; and will now make us innocent people pay for it. _Ay de
mi_!"
With this final exclamation, uttered in a tone of deep despondence, the
Mexican relapses into silence. But only for a few seconds longer, to
look through the telescope. He has seen enough to know all which can be
known, and too truly conjectures what is likely to ensue.
The party of Indians, led by El Cascabel, is again moving onward, and a
sweep of the glass around to the north-west shows the other party making
to turn the mountain on its western side. The _gambusino_ can count
them now; sees that they number over two hundred, enough to put all hope
of a successful encounter with them out of the question. As for
retreat, it is too late for that. Surrounded are the luckless miners,
or soon will be; besieged on the summit of a mountain as within the
walls of a fortress, and as far removed from any chance of succour as
castaways on a desert isle in mid-ocean.