In an instant after Henry Tresillian is inside the room, warmly received
by both the Colonel and _ganadero_; less so by the young officer, though
the two had been formerly bosom friends. The coolness of Cecilio Romero
can be easily understood; but in the scene which succeeds, with hasty
questioning, and answers alike hurried, no one takes note of it.
"You bring news--bad news, I fear?" says the Colonel.
"Bad, yes. I'm sorry having to say so," returns the messenger. "This
is for you, senor--from Don Estevan Villanueva. 'Twill tell you all."
He pulls a folded paper from under his jacket, and hands it to the
Colonel.
Breaking it open, the latter reads aloud; Romero standing by and
listening, for its contents concern them all.
Thus ran it:
"_Hermano mio_, (brother),
"If Heaven permit this to reach your hands, 'twill tell you how we are
situated--in extreme peril, I grieve to say, surrounded by Apache
Indians, the most hostile and cruel of all--the Coyoteros. Where and
how I need not specify. The brave boy who bears this, if successful in
putting it into your hands, will give you all details. When you've got
them, I know how you will act, and that no appeal from me is necessary.
On you alone depends our safety--our lives. Without your help we are
lost.
"Estevan Villanueva."
"They shall not be lost," cries the Colonel, greatly agitated--"not one
of them, if the Zacatecas Lancers can save them. I go to their aid;
will start at once. Away, Cecilio! down to the _cuartel_! Bring Major
Garcia back with you immediately. Now, senorito," he adds, turning to
Henry Tresillian, "the details. Tell us all. But, first, where are our
friends in such peril? In what place are they surrounded?"
"In a place strange enough, Senor Colonel," answers the young
Englishman. "On the top of a mountain."
"On the top of a mountain!" echoes the Colonel. "A strange situation,
indeed. What sort of mountain?"
"One standing alone on the _llanos_, out of sight of any other, 'Tis
known as the Cerro Perdido."
"Ah! I've heard of it."
"I too," says the _ganadero_.
"Up somewhere near the sources of the Horcasitas. A singular eminence--
a _mesa_, I believe. But how came they to go there? It must be some
way off the route to their intended destination."
"We were forced thither, senor, through want of water. The guide
advised it, and his advice would have been for the best, but for the ill
luck of the savages chancing to come along that way."
"_Muchacho_, I won't confuse you with further questioning, but leave you
to tell your tale. We listen. First have a _copita_ of Catalan brandy
to refresh you. You seem in need of it."
"There's one needs refreshing as much as myself, Senor Colonel; ay,
more, and more deserves it."
"What one! Who?"
"My horse out there. But for him I would not be here."
"Ah! that's your grand steed," says the Colonel, looking out; "I
remember him--Crusader. He does seem to need it, and shall have it.
_Sargento_!" This in loud call to an orderly sergeant in waiting
outside, who, instantly showing his face at the door, receives command
to see the black horse attended to.
"Now, _muchacho mio_! proceed."
Henry Tresillian, still speaking hurriedly for reasons comprehensible,
runs over all that has occurred to the caravan, since its departure from
the worked-out mine near Arispe, till its arrival at the Lost Mountain.
Then the unexpected approach of the Indians, resulting in the retreat to
the summit of the Cerro, with the other incidents and events
succeeding--to that, the latest, of himself being lowered down the
cliff, and his after-escape through the fleetness of his matchless
steed.
"How many of the Indians are there?" asks the Colonel. "Can you tell
that, senorito?"
"Between four and five hundred, we supposed; but they were not all there
when I left. Some days before half their number went off on a marauding
expedition southward; so our guide believed, as they were dressed and
painted as when on the war-trail."
"These had not returned when you came away?"
"No, Senor Colonel; no sign of them."
"I see it all now, and pity the poor people who live on the lower
Horcasitas. That's where they were bent for, no doubt. The more reason
for our making haste to reach the Cerro Perdido. We may catch these
raiders on return. _Sargento_!" This again in call to the orderly, who
responds instantly by presenting himself in the doorway.
"Summon the bugler! Give him orders to sound the `assembly' at once.
We must start without a moment's delay. How fortunate those Yaquis kept
quiet, else I would be now operating around Guaymas."
"We must, Requenes. But will your regiment be enough? How many men can
you muster?"
"Five hundred. But there's the battery of mountain howitzers--fifty men
more. Of course, I take that along."
"And of course I go too," says the _ganadero_; "and, to make sure of our
having force sufficient, can take with me at least a hundred good men,
the pick of my _vaqueros_. Fortunately they're now all within easy
summons, assembled at my house for the _herradero_" (cattle branding),
"which was to come off to-morrow. That can be postponed. _Hasta
luego_, Colonel; I ride back home to bring them; so doubt not my having
them here, and ready for the route soon as your soldiers."
"_Bueno_! Whether needed or not, it will be well to have your valiant
_vaqueros_ with us. I'll welcome them."
Instantly after the _plaza_ of Arispe displays an animated scene, people
crowding into it from all parts, with air excited. For the report,
brought by the young Englishman, has gone forth and all abroad,
spreading like wildfire,--Villanueva and Tresillian, with all their
people, surrounded by savages! "_Los Indios_!" is the cry carried from
point to point, striking terror into the hearts of the Arispenos, as
though the dreaded redskins, instead of being at an unknown distance
off, were at the gates of their city.
Then succeeds loud cheering as the bugle-call proclaims the approach of
the _lanzeros_, troop after troop filing into the _plaza_, and forming
line in front of their colonel's quarters, all in complete equipment,
and ready for the route.
More cheering as Don Juliano Romero comes riding in at the head of his
hundred retainers; _vaqueros_ and _rancheros_, in the picturesque
costume of the country, armed to the teeth, and mounted on their
mustangs, fresh, fiery, and prancing.
Still another cheer, as the battery of mountain howitzers rolls in and
takes its place in the line. Then a loud chorus of _vivas_! as the
march commences, prolonged and carried on as the column moves through
the street; the crowd following far beyond the suburbs, to take leave of
it with prayers upon their lips for the successful issue of an
expedition in which many of them are but too painfully interested.