It is midnight, and darkness over mountain and plain; pitch darkness,
although there is a moon in the sky. But she is not visible, obscured
by a bank of thick cumulus clouds, that have rolled up from the
Californian Gulf--portent of an approaching rain-storm.
The savages have gone to rest; or, at all events, brought their noisy
revelry to an end, and silence reigns everywhere around, save now and
then a snort from a miner's horse, or mule, with a stamp of hoof, uneasy
in their new companionship; the half howl, half bark of prowling coyote,
and the wailing of chuck-will's widow--the nightjar of Sonora--hawking
for insects high over the lake. But no sound of human voice is heard,
nor through the inky blackness can be seen form of man.
Yet not all are asleep, either above or below. On the plain is a line
of sentries, set at distances apart on the outer edge of the triangular
space where the path goes up; and inside this, by the bottom of the
gorge itself, two other men, though not on sentinel duty.
All Indians, of course; one of the pair by themselves being El Cascabel,
the other a sub-chief, his second in command. They are there on
reconnoitring purposes, to discover whether it be possible for the
besiegers to make the ascent on a dark night unseen, and so take the
besieged by surprise.
Since settling down in camp the Rattlesnake has reflected, and a thought
is now in his mind making him uneasy. Not regret for having to forego
his raid on the settlements of the Horcasitas. Unlikely that the siege
would take up any more time, and the booty alone should be ample
compensation. For he has made study of the abandoned camp, found every
indication of wealth, and feels sure it late held rich treasures. They
would reward him for the time lost in beleaguering. And as to the
revenge, a whole company of miners--nigh a hundred at least--with their
wives and daughters, grand senoras among them too--death to the men, and
captivity to the women--that should satisfy the keenest vengeance.
And perhaps it would his, were he sure of accomplishing it. He was
before the sun went down, but is not now. For, since, he has thought of
that which had not then occurred to him or to any of his following.
Might not the miners have sent off a courier back to their own country,
with a demand for help? If so, it would surely come; in strength
sufficient, and soon enough to raise the siege. For the head men of the
besieging force now know it will be a prolonged one. The fragments of
provisions found in the wagons tell of a good store taken out of them
and up. Game is there in abundance to supplement it, and water
never-failing--a fortress in every way supplied. Not so strange, then,
the Coyotero chief being nervous at the thought of a courier having been
dispatched. For one might, without having been seen by him or his. A
long distance it was from where they themselves must have been first
sighted by those on the mountain.
But for the obscurity, there are those on it who would see himself and
his second now. By the head of the gorge above a party of miners keep
guard. They have just come on duty, the relief after a spell of sleep.
For Don Estevan, by old experience, knowing there was no clanger of
Indian attack in the earlier hours, had entrusted the guard-keeping of
these to the more common men. Between midnight and morning is the time
to "'ware redskin," and the guard of this period, now commenced, has
been confided to a picked party, two of those composing it being Pedro
Vicente and his _fidus achates_, Henry Tresillian.
Guard it can scarce be called, being only a small vidette-picket. For
there is little fear--scarce a thought--that the Indians will attempt
the ascent, at least not so soon, or without gravely reflecting upon it.
"Perhaps never at all," says the _gambusino_, in confabulation with his
fellow-watchers. "And why should they? They must be well aware of the
chances against them. Besides, having got us as fish in a net, they're
not likely to leap into the water themselves, where they know there are
_tiburones_ (sharks)."
Vicente has had a spell at pearl-diving in the Gulf, hence his simile
drawn from the sea.
"Ay, _tintoreros_--these," he adds, specifying the most dreaded of the
squaline tribe, with hand caressingly rested on one of the large stones
alongside which he is lying. "I only wish they would try it, the
Rattlesnake leading. 'Twould give me just the opportunity I want to pay
that artist off for the bit of bad engraving--he did on my breast--by
hurling one of these beauties at his head. _Malraya_! I may never have
the chance to settle that score--not likely now."
The final words, uttered in a tone of angry disappointed vengeance, are
followed by an interval of silence. For the new videttes, having just
entered on their duty, deem it wise, before aught else, to make
themselves acquainted with how matters are below. They are all in
recumbent attitude, _ventre a terre_, behind the parapet of loose
stones. For having witnessed that long-range practice with the "Queen
Annes," it occurs to them that a big bullet may at any moment come
whizzing up the gorge, and just as well be out of its way. So elevating
but their eyes over, they look cautiously down. To see nothing--not
even the plain, nor yet the lake; to hear nothing which proceeds from
human kind; but they know the savages are on the alert, with sentries
aligned below, and for a time continue to listen.
At length, satisfied there is nothing which calls for their vigilance
being kept on the strain, Vicente draws out his _cajoncito_ of corn-husk
_cigarittos_, lights one, and sets to smoking. His comrades of the
watch do likewise; and the English youth, long since initiated into the
ways of the country, smokes too, only his weed is a Havannah.
Not many minutes are they thus occupied when the _gambusino_, chancing
to turn his eyes south-westward, sees what makes him spit the
_cigaritto_ from his mouth, and gaze intently. The object is up in the
sky; a slight rift just opened in the bank of cloud, edged
yellowish-white. The moon must be near it--_is_ near it, and now in it!
for while they are still regarding the blue spot, she shoots suddenly
out from the black, as arrow from bow.
Instantly night's darkness is turned into light as of day; every object
on the _llano_, even the smallest, made visible for miles upon miles, up
to the horizon's verge. But their eyes go not so far, least of all
those of Pedro Vicente, who at the first flash from the unveiled moon
catches sight of that which arrests his straying glances, fixing them
fast. Not the line of sentries, though he sees them too; but a pair of
figures inside and closer, up nigh the point where the path steps upon
the plain. One of them, recognised, rivets his gaze by a token of
identification unmistakable--a death's head in white chalk, which, with
the moon full upon it, gleams conspicuous against a background of
bronze.
"_Carria_! El Cascabel!" he mechanically mutters, in tone of
exultation; and without saying another word, or waiting another second,
brings his rifle to shoulder, the stock to his cheek, with muzzle deep
depressed.
A blaze--a crack--and the bullet is sped. A cry of agony from below--
another of anger in voice different--proclaims its course true, and that
the mark aimed at has been hit.
He who fired the shot knows that, by sight as well as sound. For he
sees--all see--a man reeling, staggering, about to fall, and another
with arms outstretched, as if partly in surprise, partly with intent to
support him.
Only for an instant is the spectacle under their eyes. For suddenly as
she showed herself, the moon disappears with a plunge into the opaque
clouds, leaving all dark as before.