Needless to say that the failure of their scheme with such fatal
consequence has deepened the gloom in the minds of the besieged miners,
already dark enough. Now more than ever do they believe themselves
doomed. There seems no alternative left but surrender or starvation and
as both are alike certain death, they dwell not on the first. True,
starvation is not yet so close at hand; they have still provisions--some
of the old caravan stores--sufficient for a couple of weeks, if
carefully served out, while the live stock furnished by the _mesa_
itself has not all been exhausted. Some animals as yet remain
uncaptured, though how many they know not.
To make sure, another grand _battue_ is set on foot to embrace the whole
summit area. Every outlying corner and promontory are quartered and
beaten, so that no four-footed creature could possibly be there without
being seen or shot. The result is a bag, of but small dimensions,
though with large variety; a prong-horn antelope, the last of a band
that had been daily getting thinned; several sage hares, a wolf, and
three or four coyotes. More of these last were startled, but not
killed, as they have lairs in the ledges of the cliffs to which they
betake themselves, secure from pursuit of hunter.
While the _battue_ is at its height, one large quadruped is put up which
more than any other excites the ardour of those engaged. It is a
bighorn, or Rocky Mountain sheep, remnant of that flock first found upon
the _mesa_ by Vicente and Henry Tresillian; it is also a ram, a young
one, but with grand curvature of horns. One after another all the rest
have been made mutton of, and their bones lie bleaching around the camp;
but, though several times chased, this sole survivor has ever contrived
to escape, as though it had a charmed life. And now again it seems
still under such protection; for at starting several shots are fired at
it, none taking effect; and it bounds on, apparently unharmed, towards
an outlying projection of the plateau.
Those who have emptied their guns follow without staying to re-load; for
they form a line which, deployed crossways, cannot fail to enclose and
cut off its retreat, making escape impossible. In fine, they effect
this purpose; some, with guns still charged, confidently advancing to
give the animal its _coup de grace_. They are even aiming at it, when,
lo! a leap upward and outward, with head bent down as one making a dive,
and the bighorn bounds over the cliff.
Five hundred feet fall--shattered to atoms on the rocks below!--this
their thought as they approach the precipice to see the prodigious leap
that must have been taken by the animal in its panic of fear. One,
however, draws nigh with a different thought, knows there was method in
that seeming madness, and that the _carnero_ sprang over with a design.
Pedro Vicente it is; and with the others soon upon the cliff's brow,
and, gazing below, to their surprise they see no sheep there, dead and
crushed as expected. Instead, a live one out upon the _llano_, making
off in strides long and vigorous.
Sure of its being the same they had just driven over, all are astounded,
expressing their astonishment in loud ejaculations. Alone the
_gambusino_ is silent, a pleased expression pervading his countenance,
for that extraordinary feat of the horned creature has let a flood of
light into his mind, giving him renewed hope that they may still be
saved. He says nothing of it to those around, leaving it for more
mature consideration, and to be discussed in their council of the night.
But long after the others have returned to camp he lingers on the cliff,
treading backwards and forwards along its crest, surveying it from every
possible point of vantage, as though in an endeavour to find out how the
sheep made that extraordinary descent.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another night is on, and, as is their wont, the chief men of those
besieged are assembled in the tent of Don Estevan. Not discouraged yet,
for there is a rumour among them that some new plan has been thought of
for passing the Indian sentries, less likely to be disastrous than that
which has failed. It has been the whisper of the afternoon, their guide
being regarded as he who has conceived a scheme.
When all are together Don Estevan calls upon him to declare it, saying,
"I understand, Senor Vicente, you've thought of a way by which a
messenger may yet elude the vigilance of their sentries, and get beyond
them?"
"I have, your worship."
"Please make it known."
"Nothing more simple; and I only wonder at not having thought of it
before. After all, that would have been useless, for only this day have
I discovered the thing to be possible."
"We long to hear what it is."
"Well, then, senores, it's but to give them the slip. Going out by the
back door, while they are so carefully guarding the front. That can be
done by our letting one down the cliff--two, if need be."
"But where?"
"Where the _carnero_ went over."
"What! five hundred feet? Impossible! We have not rope enough to reach
half the distance."
"We don't need rope to reach much more than a third of it."
"Indeed! Explain yourself, Don Pedro."
"I will, your worship, and it is thus. I've examined the cliff
carefully, where the sheep went over. There are ledges at intervals; it
is true not wide, but broad enough for the animal to have dropped upon
and stuck. They can cling to the rocks like squirrels or cats. Some of
the ledges run downwards, then zigzag into others, also with a downward
slope; and the ram must have followed these, now and then making a
plunge, where it became necessary, to alight on his hoofs or horns, as
the case might be. Anyhow, he got safe to the bottom, as we know, and
where it went down, so may we."
There is a pause of silence, all looking pleased for the words of the
_gambusino_ have resuscitated hopes that had almost died out. They can
see the possibility he speaks of, their only doubt and drawback being
the fear they may not have rope enough.
"It seems but a question of that," says Don Estevan, as if speaking
reflectingly to himself.
The others are also considering, each trying to recall how much and how
many of their trail-ropes were brought up in that hasty _debendade_ from
their camp below.
"_Por Dios_! your worship," rejoins the _gambusino_, "it is no question
of that whatever. We have the materials to make cords enough, not only
to go down the cliff, but all round the mountain. Miles, if it were
needed!"
"What materials?" demanded several of the party, mystified.
"_Mira_!" exclaims the _gambusino_. "This!" He starts up from a bundle
of dry _mezcal_-leaves on which he has been seated, pushing it before
him with his foot.
All comprehend him now, knowing that the fibre of these is a flax, or
rather hemp, capable of being worked into thread, cloth, or cordage; and
they know that on the _mesa_ is an unlimited supply of it.
"No question of rope, _caballeros_; only the time it will take us to
manufacture it. And with men such as you, used to such gearing, that
should not be long."
"It shall not," respond all. "We'll work night and day till it be
done."
"One day, I take it, will be enough--that to-morrow. And if luck attend
us, by this time to-morrow night we may have our messengers on the way,
safe beyond pursuit of these accursed redskins."
Some more details are discussed maturing their plans for the
rope-making. Then all retire to rest, this night with more hopeful
anticipations than they have had for many preceding.