The exciting events above recorded, as occurring in quick succession,
are followed by a period of repose lasting for days. Alike reigns it on
the mountain summit and around its base; in the camp of the besieged as
of the besiegers.
Withal, in the latter there is no lack of activity; parties go and come
at all hours, but more especially during those of the night. Scouts
sent out; it may be for many purposes. But one large detail is observed
on a certain day to make the complete round of the mountain, every here
and there halting with front towards it, as if for minute examination of
its cliffs from base to summit; evidently to be satisfied whether there
be any possible chance for the white men to reach the plain otherwise
than down that chine cut by the watercourse.
While making this _reconnaissance_ they have been narrowly watched by
eyes from above, and as no particular point has been observed to attract
their attention, it is concluded that they deem their pale-faced
prisoners quite secure, only calling for a little patience ere they may
evidently lay hands on them.
The same movement also gives assurance to their intended victims, but of
a kind not so satisfactory. It tells them how determined their enemy
is, how retentive his grasp, and implacable his vengeance. All this
with no increased hope on their part of being able to escape him.
Thought of how has not yet taken shape in their minds. How could it?
So many present facts and fears engrossing them, they have found little
time to reflect on the future.
And a new fear has now arisen which calls for steps to be taken. There
may be other grizzly bears on the _mesa_, and if so these monsters will
be prowling around the camp to assail it at any instant. Better they be
met outside at a distance off, there attacked, and if possible
exterminated.
This conclusion come to, Don Estevan gives orders for all to arm, and a
general _battue_ is made over the summit of the Cerro. Paths are hacked
through the underwood everywhere, laying open many a spot never before
trodden by foot of man. Strange birds are flushed from their nests, and
strange animals are seen stealing away through the thick tangle of
_llianas_, chiefly of the reptilian order, as armadillos, lizards, the
curious horned frog (_Agama cornuta_), and serpents--most numerous of
all that whose retreat is marked by the defiant rattle which has given
it its name. Scores of _cascabeles_ are started out of the dead leaves
and branches, their vibratory "skirr" resounding everywhere.
But quadrupeds turn up as well. At intervals the crack of gun tells of
one shot at, whether killed or no. Now a wild sheep, now a prong-horn
antelope, or it may be but a hare or rabbit. The great wolf is also
found there, and his lesser and more cowardly congener, the coyote; but
no more bears--grizzly or other--nor sign of them. Evidently the two
killed at the camp were the sole monarchs of the mountain.
The day's hunt, for it occupied a whole day, gives satisfaction in more
ways than one. First, by doing away with all apprehension of danger
from _Ursus ferox_; secondly, by affording a plentiful supply of present
food; and, thirdly, in there being still more on the mountain, giving
proof of the abundance of them.
Nor is the vegetable element lacking, but present in all its varieties
of root, fruit, and berry. The _mezcal_, whose baked stem forms staple
food for their enemies, grows on the _mesa_. Its use is known to the
_gambusino_, as others of the miners. Several sorts of _mezquite_ trees
are found there, whose long pendulous _siliques_ contain seeds which can
be ground into a meal making nutritious bread, while the cones of the
edible pine (_Pinus edulis_)--"_pinon-nuts_" as called--are in quantity
all around. For fruit there are several varieties of the cactus, with
that of pear-shape, and all the rich juiciness of a pear, the famed
_pitathaya_. In short, the Cerro Perdido is a very oasis, its
cornucopia peculiar to the desert. With so bountiful a supply of
provisions the besieged need not fear famine, at least for a long time.
Their resources, carefully husbanded, may last for weeks.
And on time rests their only hope; their sole chance of being rescued
depending on that, by some means or other, their situation may become
known to their friends at Arispe, or their countrymen elsewhere.
But what likelihood of this? As already stated, the Lost Mountain is
out of the line of all travel and traffic. Months, a year, nay, years
may elapse ere a wayfarer of any kind stray to it, or near it. So their
chances of being seen there by friendly eyes, to say naught of their
position being understood, are as those of castaways on a desert isle in
mid-ocean.
And as shipwrecked men they hoist signals of distress. Any one
approaching that solitary eminence from the south might wonder to see a
flag floating from a tall staff over its southern end, giving it all the
greater resemblance to a fortress with banner waving above. A tricolour
flag, bearing the symbolic badge of the Mexican Republic--the Eagle upon
the Nopal! It is that Don Estevan had meant to have erected over the
new mine, now little likely ever to be displayed there. For now it is
unfolded to tell a tale of threatening disaster, and attract the eyes of
those who may do something to avert it.
But for this dark uncertainty of future there is nothing irksome, not
even disagreeable, in their present life. On the contrary, it might be
even called pleasant; plenty to eat, plenty to drink, sufficient freedom
of range, a sapphire sky above, with an atmosphere around them whose
heat is tempered by breezes ever blowing, ever laden with the fragrance
of fruit and flower.
And no scene of sombre gloomy silence; instead, one enlivened by the
notes of many wild warblers, both diurnal and nocturnal. By day the
jarring yet cheering cry of the blue jay and the red cardinal; the
mewing of the catbird, or the "hew-hew" of hawk in pursuit of his
victim. By night, the more melodious, all incomparable song of the
_czentzontle_--mockingbird of Mexico--oft intermingled with another
song, but little less powerful or sweet, that of the _cuitlacoche_--a
second species of New World nightingale, not so well known.
Life in the odd aerial camp now settles down into a sort of routine,
each day having its separate calls and duties. The watch is, of course,
kept up, and with no falling off in its vigilance. For although the
besiegers have not again shown any sign of an intention to try the
assault, who knows what may be in the mind of these subtle savages?
Only at night need there be any fear, and only when it is darkest. At
other times the vidette duty is a matter of easy fulfilment.
In truth the miners might almost fancy themselves in picnic, having a
happy time of it, halfway between earth and heaven. But they are not
there by choice, too well knowing its stern necessity. And this, with
the dark doubtful future, robs them of all zest for enjoyment. So the
hours pass not merrily, but wearily.