Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.A Homeric Repast.Early as are the white men astir, yet earlier are the red ones. For the Coyoteros, like the animal from which they derive their tribal name, do more of their prowling by night than by day. Moreover, it is the sultry season, and they design reaching Nauchampa-tepetl before the sun gets so high and hot as to make travelling uncomfortable. Even savages are not averse to comfort; though these are now thinking more about that of their horses than their own. They are on an expedition that will need keeping the animals up to their best strength; and journeying in the noon hours would distress and pull them down.So nearly an hour before dawn declines itself they are up and active, moving about in the dim light, silent as spectres. Silent, not from any fear of betraying their presence to an enemy—they know of none likely to be near—but because it is their habit.What they first do is to shift the picket-pins of their horses, or give greater length to the trail-ropes, in order that the animals may get a bite of clean fresh grass, that on which they were tethered throughout the night being now trampled down.Next, they proceed to take care of themselves—to fortify the inner man with a bit of breakfast. No fire is needed for the cooking it, and none is kindled. Themezcaland horse-meat pie has been baking all the night; and now, near morning, they know it will be ready—done to a turn. It but needs the turf lifted off their primitive oven, and the contents extracted.Five or six, detailed for the task, at once set about it; first taking off the top sods, now calcined and still smoking. Then the loose mould, which the fire has converted into ashes, is removed with more care. It is hot, and needs handling gingerly; but the savagecuisiniersknow how, and soon the black bundle is exposed to view, the hide now hairless and charred, but moist and reeking. It still adheres sufficiently to bear hoisting out, without fear of spilling the contents; and at length it is so lifted and carried to a clean spot of sward. Then cut open and spread out, there is displayed a steaming savoury mass, whose appetising odour, borne upward and outward on the fresh morning air, inspires every redskin around with delightful anticipations.And not without reason either. To say nothing of the baked horseflesh—by manygourmetsesteemed a delectable dish—the corn of themezcal, treated thus, is a viand palatable as peculiar. And peculiar it is, bearing resemblance to nothing I either know or can think of. In appearance it is much like candied citron, with a sweetish taste too, only firmer and darker in colour. But while eating it the tongue seems penetrated with a thousand tiny darts; a sort of prinkling sensation, quite indescribable, and, to one unaccustomed to it, not altogether agreeable. In time this passes away; and he who has made the experiment of eatingmezcalcomes to like it exceedingly. Many grand people among the whites regard it in the light of a luxury; and as such it has found its way into most Mexican towns—even the capital itself—where it commands a high price.With the Apache Indians, as already said, it is a staple food, even giving their tribal name to one branch of this numerous nation—the Mezcaleros. But all eat of it alike, and the Coyoteros,en bivouac, show, by their knowledge of how to prepare it, that bakedmezcalis noways new to them.At the word “ready!” they gather around the hot steaming mass; and, regardless of scorched lips or tongues, set upon it with knife and tooth.Soon the skin is cleaned out, every scrap of its contents eaten. They could eat the hide too, and would, were there a pinch. But there is none such now, and it is left for their namesakes, the coyotes.A smoke follows the Homeric repast, for all American Indians are addicted to the use of the nicotian weed. They were so before the caravels of Columbus spread sail on the Haytian seas.Every Coyotero in camp has his pipe and pouch of tobacco, be it genuine or adulterated; this depending on how their luck has been running, or how recent their latest raid upon some settlement of the palefaces.Pipes smoked out and returned to their places of deposit, all are afoot again. Nothing more now but to draw picket-pins, coil up trail-ropes, mount, and move off; for their horse caparison, scant and easily adjusted, is already on.The chief gives the order “to horse,” not in words, but by example—springing upon the back of his own. Then they ride off, as before, in formation “by twos,” each file falling into rank as the line lengthens out upon the plain.Scarce is the last file clear of the abandoned camp-ground ere this becomes occupied by animated beings of another kind—wolves, whose howling has been heard throughout all the night. Having scented the slaughtered horse, these now rush simultaneously towards it, to dispute the banquet of bones.Shortly after leaving the camp the marching redskins lose sight of the Cerro. This is accounted for by a dip in the plain, with a ridgelike swell beyond, which runs transversely to their course. The hollow continues for several miles before the mountain will be again in view; but, well knowing the way, they need not this to guide them. Nor are they in any particular hurry. They can reach their intended halting-place by the lake long ere the sun becomes sultry, there to lie up till the cool hours of evening. So they move leisurely along, and with a purpose—to spare the sinews of their horses.They talk enough now, loudly and laughingly. They have slept well, and breakfasted satisfactorily; besides, it is broad daylight, and no danger to be apprehended, no fear of hostile surprise. For all that they keep their eyes on the alert through habitude, every now and then scanning the horizon around.Soon they see that which gives them something serious to speak about. Not upon the horizon, nor anywhere upon the plain, but up in the heavens above it—birds. What of them? And what in their appearance to attract the attention of the Coyoteros? Nothing, or not much, were the birds other than they are. But they are vultures, black vultures of two sorts—gallinazosandzopilotes. Nor would the Indians think of giving them a second glance were they soaring about in their ordinary way, wheeling in circles and spirals. But they are not; instead, passing overhead in straight onward flight, with a quick, earnest plying of wings, evidently making for some point where they expect to stoop upon carrion. Scores there are of them, straggled out in a long stream, but all flying in one direction—the same in which the savages are themselves proceeding—towards Nauchampa-tepetl.What can be drawing the vultures thither? This the question which the Indians ask one another, in their own formularies of speech; none able to answer it, save by conjecture. Without in any way alarming, the spectacle excites them; and they quicken their pace, eager to learn what is attracting the birds. It should be something more than dead antelope or deer, so many are tending towards it, and from so far. For their high flight, straight onward, tells of their having been for some time keeping the same course.Hastening on up the slope of the swell, the dusky horsemen once more catch sight of the mountain, there to see what brings them to an abrupt halt—a filmy purplish haze hanging over its southern end, more scattered higher up in the sky. Is it fog rising from the water they know to be there? No: smoke, as their practised eyes tell them after regarding it a moment. And with like celerity they interpret it, as proceeding from the fire, or fires, of a camp. Other travellers, anticipating them, are encamped by Nauchampa-tepetl,Who? Opatas? Not likely. Sons of toil—Indicos mansos—slaves, as these thebravos, their kindred only in race, scornfully call them—the Opatas keep to their towns, and the patches of cultivation around them. Improbable that they should have ventured into that wilderness so far from home. More likely it is a party of palefaces; men in search of that shining metal which, as the Apaches know, has often lured their white enemies into the very heart of the desert, their own domain, and to destruction—themselves the destroyers. If the smoke of those camp fires they now see be over such a party, then is it doomed—at least so mentally resolve the red centaurs, hoping it may be thus.While still gazing at the blue cloud, taking its measure, and discussing the probabilities of who and what sort of men may be under it, another appears before their eyes; this whiter and of smaller size—a mere puff suddenly rising over the crest of themesa, and separating from it as it drifts higher.From the fire of a gun, or guns, as the Coyoteros can tell, though not by any crack of one having reached their ears, since none has. In the rarefied atmosphere of the high-lyingllanosthe eye has the advantage of the ear, sounds being heard only at short distance. They are still more than ten miles from the mountain, and the report of a cannon, discharged on its summit, would be barely audible to them.Still staying at halt, but keeping to their horses, the chief and others in authority enter into consultation. And while they are deliberating on the best course to be pursued, still another puff of smoke shoots up over themesa, similar to that preceding, but at a different point. It aids them in coming to conclusions; for now they are sure there is a camp of palefaces by the pond; and they above are hunters who have gone up to get game, which the Indians know to be there in abundance.But what sort of palefaces? Of this they are not sure. Knowing it to be a miners’ camp, they would ride straight on for it, in gallop. But it may be an encampment ofsoldados, which would make a difference. Not that the Coyoteros are afraid to encounter Mexican soldiers—far from it. Rather would they rejoice at finding it these. For their tribe, their own branch of it, has an old score against the men in uniform; and nothing would please them better than an opportunity to settle it. Indeed, partly to seek this, with purposes of plunder combined, are they now on thewar-trail. Only in their mode of action would there be a difference, in the event of the encampment turning out to be occupied bysoldados. Soldiers in that quarter should be cavalry, and to approach them caution would be called for, with strategy. But these red centaurs are soldiers themselves—veterans, skilled, cunning strategists—and now give proof of it. For the time has come for them to advance; which they do, not straight forward nor in single body, but broken into two bands, one facing right, the other left, with a design to enfilade the camp by approaching it from opposite points. Separating at the start, the two cohorts soon diverge wide apart, both making for the mountain, but with the intention to reach its southern end on different sides.If the black vultures, still in streaming flight above, have hopes of getting a repast there, they may now feel assured of its being a plenteous one.

Early as are the white men astir, yet earlier are the red ones. For the Coyoteros, like the animal from which they derive their tribal name, do more of their prowling by night than by day. Moreover, it is the sultry season, and they design reaching Nauchampa-tepetl before the sun gets so high and hot as to make travelling uncomfortable. Even savages are not averse to comfort; though these are now thinking more about that of their horses than their own. They are on an expedition that will need keeping the animals up to their best strength; and journeying in the noon hours would distress and pull them down.

So nearly an hour before dawn declines itself they are up and active, moving about in the dim light, silent as spectres. Silent, not from any fear of betraying their presence to an enemy—they know of none likely to be near—but because it is their habit.

What they first do is to shift the picket-pins of their horses, or give greater length to the trail-ropes, in order that the animals may get a bite of clean fresh grass, that on which they were tethered throughout the night being now trampled down.

Next, they proceed to take care of themselves—to fortify the inner man with a bit of breakfast. No fire is needed for the cooking it, and none is kindled. Themezcaland horse-meat pie has been baking all the night; and now, near morning, they know it will be ready—done to a turn. It but needs the turf lifted off their primitive oven, and the contents extracted.

Five or six, detailed for the task, at once set about it; first taking off the top sods, now calcined and still smoking. Then the loose mould, which the fire has converted into ashes, is removed with more care. It is hot, and needs handling gingerly; but the savagecuisiniersknow how, and soon the black bundle is exposed to view, the hide now hairless and charred, but moist and reeking. It still adheres sufficiently to bear hoisting out, without fear of spilling the contents; and at length it is so lifted and carried to a clean spot of sward. Then cut open and spread out, there is displayed a steaming savoury mass, whose appetising odour, borne upward and outward on the fresh morning air, inspires every redskin around with delightful anticipations.

And not without reason either. To say nothing of the baked horseflesh—by manygourmetsesteemed a delectable dish—the corn of themezcal, treated thus, is a viand palatable as peculiar. And peculiar it is, bearing resemblance to nothing I either know or can think of. In appearance it is much like candied citron, with a sweetish taste too, only firmer and darker in colour. But while eating it the tongue seems penetrated with a thousand tiny darts; a sort of prinkling sensation, quite indescribable, and, to one unaccustomed to it, not altogether agreeable. In time this passes away; and he who has made the experiment of eatingmezcalcomes to like it exceedingly. Many grand people among the whites regard it in the light of a luxury; and as such it has found its way into most Mexican towns—even the capital itself—where it commands a high price.

With the Apache Indians, as already said, it is a staple food, even giving their tribal name to one branch of this numerous nation—the Mezcaleros. But all eat of it alike, and the Coyoteros,en bivouac, show, by their knowledge of how to prepare it, that bakedmezcalis noways new to them.

At the word “ready!” they gather around the hot steaming mass; and, regardless of scorched lips or tongues, set upon it with knife and tooth.

Soon the skin is cleaned out, every scrap of its contents eaten. They could eat the hide too, and would, were there a pinch. But there is none such now, and it is left for their namesakes, the coyotes.

A smoke follows the Homeric repast, for all American Indians are addicted to the use of the nicotian weed. They were so before the caravels of Columbus spread sail on the Haytian seas.

Every Coyotero in camp has his pipe and pouch of tobacco, be it genuine or adulterated; this depending on how their luck has been running, or how recent their latest raid upon some settlement of the palefaces.

Pipes smoked out and returned to their places of deposit, all are afoot again. Nothing more now but to draw picket-pins, coil up trail-ropes, mount, and move off; for their horse caparison, scant and easily adjusted, is already on.

The chief gives the order “to horse,” not in words, but by example—springing upon the back of his own. Then they ride off, as before, in formation “by twos,” each file falling into rank as the line lengthens out upon the plain.

Scarce is the last file clear of the abandoned camp-ground ere this becomes occupied by animated beings of another kind—wolves, whose howling has been heard throughout all the night. Having scented the slaughtered horse, these now rush simultaneously towards it, to dispute the banquet of bones.

Shortly after leaving the camp the marching redskins lose sight of the Cerro. This is accounted for by a dip in the plain, with a ridgelike swell beyond, which runs transversely to their course. The hollow continues for several miles before the mountain will be again in view; but, well knowing the way, they need not this to guide them. Nor are they in any particular hurry. They can reach their intended halting-place by the lake long ere the sun becomes sultry, there to lie up till the cool hours of evening. So they move leisurely along, and with a purpose—to spare the sinews of their horses.

They talk enough now, loudly and laughingly. They have slept well, and breakfasted satisfactorily; besides, it is broad daylight, and no danger to be apprehended, no fear of hostile surprise. For all that they keep their eyes on the alert through habitude, every now and then scanning the horizon around.

Soon they see that which gives them something serious to speak about. Not upon the horizon, nor anywhere upon the plain, but up in the heavens above it—birds. What of them? And what in their appearance to attract the attention of the Coyoteros? Nothing, or not much, were the birds other than they are. But they are vultures, black vultures of two sorts—gallinazosandzopilotes. Nor would the Indians think of giving them a second glance were they soaring about in their ordinary way, wheeling in circles and spirals. But they are not; instead, passing overhead in straight onward flight, with a quick, earnest plying of wings, evidently making for some point where they expect to stoop upon carrion. Scores there are of them, straggled out in a long stream, but all flying in one direction—the same in which the savages are themselves proceeding—towards Nauchampa-tepetl.

What can be drawing the vultures thither? This the question which the Indians ask one another, in their own formularies of speech; none able to answer it, save by conjecture. Without in any way alarming, the spectacle excites them; and they quicken their pace, eager to learn what is attracting the birds. It should be something more than dead antelope or deer, so many are tending towards it, and from so far. For their high flight, straight onward, tells of their having been for some time keeping the same course.

Hastening on up the slope of the swell, the dusky horsemen once more catch sight of the mountain, there to see what brings them to an abrupt halt—a filmy purplish haze hanging over its southern end, more scattered higher up in the sky. Is it fog rising from the water they know to be there? No: smoke, as their practised eyes tell them after regarding it a moment. And with like celerity they interpret it, as proceeding from the fire, or fires, of a camp. Other travellers, anticipating them, are encamped by Nauchampa-tepetl,

Who? Opatas? Not likely. Sons of toil—Indicos mansos—slaves, as these thebravos, their kindred only in race, scornfully call them—the Opatas keep to their towns, and the patches of cultivation around them. Improbable that they should have ventured into that wilderness so far from home. More likely it is a party of palefaces; men in search of that shining metal which, as the Apaches know, has often lured their white enemies into the very heart of the desert, their own domain, and to destruction—themselves the destroyers. If the smoke of those camp fires they now see be over such a party, then is it doomed—at least so mentally resolve the red centaurs, hoping it may be thus.

While still gazing at the blue cloud, taking its measure, and discussing the probabilities of who and what sort of men may be under it, another appears before their eyes; this whiter and of smaller size—a mere puff suddenly rising over the crest of themesa, and separating from it as it drifts higher.

From the fire of a gun, or guns, as the Coyoteros can tell, though not by any crack of one having reached their ears, since none has. In the rarefied atmosphere of the high-lyingllanosthe eye has the advantage of the ear, sounds being heard only at short distance. They are still more than ten miles from the mountain, and the report of a cannon, discharged on its summit, would be barely audible to them.

Still staying at halt, but keeping to their horses, the chief and others in authority enter into consultation. And while they are deliberating on the best course to be pursued, still another puff of smoke shoots up over themesa, similar to that preceding, but at a different point. It aids them in coming to conclusions; for now they are sure there is a camp of palefaces by the pond; and they above are hunters who have gone up to get game, which the Indians know to be there in abundance.

But what sort of palefaces? Of this they are not sure. Knowing it to be a miners’ camp, they would ride straight on for it, in gallop. But it may be an encampment ofsoldados, which would make a difference. Not that the Coyoteros are afraid to encounter Mexican soldiers—far from it. Rather would they rejoice at finding it these. For their tribe, their own branch of it, has an old score against the men in uniform; and nothing would please them better than an opportunity to settle it. Indeed, partly to seek this, with purposes of plunder combined, are they now on thewar-trail. Only in their mode of action would there be a difference, in the event of the encampment turning out to be occupied bysoldados. Soldiers in that quarter should be cavalry, and to approach them caution would be called for, with strategy. But these red centaurs are soldiers themselves—veterans, skilled, cunning strategists—and now give proof of it. For the time has come for them to advance; which they do, not straight forward nor in single body, but broken into two bands, one facing right, the other left, with a design to enfilade the camp by approaching it from opposite points. Separating at the start, the two cohorts soon diverge wide apart, both making for the mountain, but with the intention to reach its southern end on different sides.

If the black vultures, still in streaming flight above, have hopes of getting a repast there, they may now feel assured of its being a plenteous one.

Chapter Seven.Los Indios!Parting from the despised carcase of the ram the hunters press onward, the younger with mental resolve to return to it, come back what way they will. Its grand spiral horns have caught his fancy: such a pair would grace any hall in Christendom; and, though he cannot call the trophy his own, since it fell not to his gun, he intends appropriating it.Only for a brief moment does the young Englishman reflect about them; in the next they are out of his mind. For, glancing at the Mexican’s face, he again sees that look of anxious uneasiness noted before. It had returned soon as the exciting incident of the sheep-shooting was over. And knowing the cause, he shares it; no more thinking about the chase or its trophies.They say but little now, having sufficient work to occupy them without wasting time in words. For beyond the opening where thecarneroswere encountered, they find no path—not so much as a trace made by animals—and have to make one for themselves. As the trees stand close, withlianasinterlacing, the Mexican is often compelled to use hismachetéfor hewing out a passage-way; which he does with an accompaniment ofcarrambas! thick as the underwood he chops at.Thus impeded, they are nearly an hour in getting through thechapparal, though the distance passed is less than the half of a mile. But at length they accomplish it, arriving on themesasouter edge, close to that of the cliff. There the tall timber ends in a skirting of low bushes, and their view is no longer obstructed. North, east, and west thellanois under their eyes to the horizon’s verge, twenty miles at least being within the scope of their vision.They aim not to scan it so far. For at a distance of little more than ten they observe that which at once fixes their glance: a dun yellowish disc—a cloud—with its base resting upon the plain.“Smoke, no—but dust!” exclaims thegambusino, soon as sighting it; “and kicked up by the heels of horses—hundreds of them. There can be nothing else out there to cause that. Horses with men on their backs. If acaballadaof wild mustangs, the dust would show more scattered.Indios, por cierto! Carra-i!” he says in continuation, the shade on his brow sensibly darkening, as with a quick glance over his shoulder he sees real smoke in that direction. “What fools we’ve been to kindle fires! Rank madness. Better to have eaten breakfast raw. I myself most to blame of any; I should have known the danger. By this they’ll have spied our camp smoke—that of our shots, too. Ah,muchacho! we’ve been foolish in every way.”Almost breathless from this burst of regret and self-recrimination, he is for a while silent; his heart beating audibly, however, as with gaze fixed on the far-off cloud, he endeavours to interpret it. But the dark cloud soon becomes less dense, partially dispersed, and under it appears something more solid; a clump of sombre hue, but with here and there sparkling points. No separate forms can as yet be made out; only a mass; but for all that, thegambusinoknows it to be composed of horses and men, the corruscations being the glint of arms and accoutrements, as the sun penetrates through to them.“What a pity,” he exclaims, resuming speech, “I didn’t think of asking Don Estevan for the loan of his telescope! If we only had it here now! But I can see enough without it; ’tis as I feared. No more hunting for us to-day; but fighting ere the sun goes down—perhaps ere it reach meridian.Mira! the thing’s splitting into two. You see, señorito?”The señorito does see that the dust-cloud has parted in twain, as also the dark mass underneath. And now they can distinguish separate forms; horses with men on their backs, and a more conspicuous glittering of arms, because of their being in motion.“Ah, yes!” adds the Mexican, with increased gravity of tone, “Indios bravosthey are, hundreds of them. If Apaches, as sure they must, Heaven help us all! I know what they mean by that movement. They’ve sighted the camp smoke, and intend coming on along both sides of the Cerro. That’s why they’ve broken into two bands. Back to camp, as fast as our legs can carry us! We’ve not a minute—not a second—to lose.Vamos!”And back for camp they start, not to spend time on the way as when coming from it, but in a run and rush along the path already opened—past the dead sheep, past the spring, and the strung-up turkeys, without even staying to look at these, much less think of taking them along.The occupants of the miners’ camp, men, women, and children, are up and active now. Some are at work about the wagons, pouring water over their wheels to tighten the tyres, loose from the shrinking of the wood; others have set to mending harness and pack-saddles; while still others, out on the open plain, are changing the animals to fresh spots of pasturage. A small party is seen around the carcase of a bullock, in the act of skinning it to get beefsteaks for breakfast.Several fires have been kindled, for the people are many, and have separate messes, according to rank and vocation. Around these are the women and grown girls, some bending over red earthenware pots that contain chocolate and coffee, others on their knees with themetatestone in front, andmetlapillain hand, crushing the boiled maize into paste for the indispensabletortillas. The children play by the lake’s edge, wading ankle-deep into the water, plashing about like little ducks; some of the bigger boys, who have improvised a rude tackle, endeavouring to catch fish. In this remote tarn there are such, as it has an affluent stream connecting it with the Rio Horcasitas—now nearly dry, but at times having a volume of water sufficient for the finny tribes to ascend to the lake, into which several species have found their way.Within the space enclosed by the wagons—thecorral—three tents have been erected, and stand in a row. The middle one is a large square marquee, the two flanking it of the ordinary bell shape. The marquee is occupied by the senior partner and his señora; the one on the right by their daughter and an Indianmoza—her waiting-maid; the third affords shelter and sleeping quarters for the two Tresillians.All three are for a time empty, their occupants having stepped out of them. As known, Henry Tresillian has gone up to the summit of the Cerro, and his father is moving about the camp in the company of themayor-domo, with an eye to superintendence of everything; while Don Estevan, his wife, and daughter, have strolled out along the lake’s edge to enjoy the refreshing breeze wafted over its water. The three promenaders have but made one turn along the sandy shore, and back again, when they hear a cry which not only alarms them, but all within and around the camp—“Los Indios!”It has been sent from above—from the head of the ravine; and everybody looks up—all eyes raised simultaneously. To see two men standing on a projecting point of rock, their figures sharply outlined against the blue background of sky; at the same time to recognise them as thegambusinoand Henry Tresillian. Only for an instant are these at a stand; only to shout down those terrible words of warning; then both bound into the gorge, and come on at a rush, with risk of breaking their necks.At its bottom they are met by an excited, clamorous crowd; surrounded and assailed by a very tempest of interrogations. But to these they vouchsafe no answer beyond that implied in their shout; instead, push on to where Don Estevan and the elder Tresillian, now together, stand awaiting them. The senior partner is the first to speak, addressing himself to Vicente:“You’ve seen Indians, Don Pedro? Where?”“Out upon thellano, your worship—to north-eastward.”“You’re sure of it being Indians?”“Quite sure, señor. We were able to make horses with men on them; the men unlike any with a white skin, but just as those with a red one. Your worship can take my word for their being Indians.”“I can, and do. But from what you say, it seems they’re still a good way off. How far, think you?”“Ten miles or more, when we came away from the place where we saw them. They can’t be much nearer yet, as we’ve not been over ten minutes on the way.”The quick time made by the hunters in return is attested by their breathing; both with nostrils agape and breasts heaving up and down as runners at the close of a hard-contested race.“’Tis well they’re at such a distance,” rejoins Don Estevan. “And lucky your having sighted them before they got nearer.”“Ah! señor, they’ll soon be near; for I know they’ve sighted us—at least the smoke of our camp, and are already making for it. Light horsemen as they don’t need long to traverse ten miles—on a plain like this.”“That’s true,” assents theci-devantsoldier, with an air of troubled impatience. “What do you advise our doing, Don Pedro?”“Well, for one thing, your worship, we mustn’t remain here. We must clear out of this camp as soon as possible. In an hour—ay, less—it may be too late.”“Your words want explaining, Don Pedro. I don’t comprehend them. Clear out of the camp! But whither are we to go?”“Arriba!” answers the guide, pointing to the gorge, “up yonder.”“But we can’t take the animals there. And to carry up our goods there wouldn’t be time.”“I know it, your worship. And glad we may be to get ourselves safe up.”“Then we’re to abandon all? Is that what you advise?”“It is. I’m sorry I can give no better advice. There’s no alternative if we wish to live.”“To lose everything,” puts in the junior partner, “goods, animals, machinery! That would be a terrible calamity. Surely, Señor Vicente, we can defend the camp; our people are all well armed.”“Impossible, Don Roberto; impossible were they ever so well armed. From what I could make out of the Indian party it numbers hundreds to our tens, sufficient of them to surround us on every side. And even if we could keep them off during daylight, at night they’d crawl close enough to set the camp on fire. Wagons, tilts, every stick and stitch of them are dry as tinder; the very pack-saddles would be ablaze with the first spark that fell on them.”“But how know we that these Indians are hostile? After all, it may be some friendly band; perhaps Opatas?”“No!” exclaims thegambusinoimpatiently. “I saw enough to know they’re not Opatas, normansosof any kind; enough to be sure they’rebravos, and almost sure, Apaches.”“Apaches!” echo several voices in the surrounding, in tones proclaiming the dread with which this name inspires the heart of every Sonoreno. Every man present feels a creeping sensation in the skin of his head, as though the scalping-knife were being brandished around it.“They’re coming from the direction where Apaches would come,” pursues Vicente. “Besides, they have no baggage; not a woman or child to be seen with them. All men, mounted and armed.”“Indeed, if it be so,” rejoins Don Estevan, with brow now darkly shadowed, “we can expect no friendship from them.”“No mercy either!” adds the gold-seeker. “Nor have we a right to expect it, after the treatment they’ve had at the hands of Captain Gil Perez and his men.”All know to what Vicente alludes: a massacre of Apache Indians by a party of Mexican soldiers, after being lured and lulled into false security by professions of peace—cold-blooded and cruel, as any recorded in the annals of frontier warfare.“I’ve said it. I’m good as sure they’re Apaches,” repeats thegambusino, more impressively. “And it would be madness, sheer insanity, to await them here. We must up to themesa.”“But will we be safe there?”“As in a citadel. No fortress ever contrived, or made by hand of man, is strong as the Cerro Perdido. Twenty men could hold it against as many hundreds—ay, thousands.Carramba! We may thank the Virgin for providing us with such a secure retreat; so handy, and just in the nick of time.”“Then let us to it,” assents Don Estevan, after a brief consultation with his partner, who no longer opposes the step, though by it they may lose their all. “We’ll follow your advice, Señor Vicente; and you have our authority to order everything as it seems best to you.”“I’ve only one order to give, your worships; that’sarriba! Up, all and everybody!”

Parting from the despised carcase of the ram the hunters press onward, the younger with mental resolve to return to it, come back what way they will. Its grand spiral horns have caught his fancy: such a pair would grace any hall in Christendom; and, though he cannot call the trophy his own, since it fell not to his gun, he intends appropriating it.

Only for a brief moment does the young Englishman reflect about them; in the next they are out of his mind. For, glancing at the Mexican’s face, he again sees that look of anxious uneasiness noted before. It had returned soon as the exciting incident of the sheep-shooting was over. And knowing the cause, he shares it; no more thinking about the chase or its trophies.

They say but little now, having sufficient work to occupy them without wasting time in words. For beyond the opening where thecarneroswere encountered, they find no path—not so much as a trace made by animals—and have to make one for themselves. As the trees stand close, withlianasinterlacing, the Mexican is often compelled to use hismachetéfor hewing out a passage-way; which he does with an accompaniment ofcarrambas! thick as the underwood he chops at.

Thus impeded, they are nearly an hour in getting through thechapparal, though the distance passed is less than the half of a mile. But at length they accomplish it, arriving on themesasouter edge, close to that of the cliff. There the tall timber ends in a skirting of low bushes, and their view is no longer obstructed. North, east, and west thellanois under their eyes to the horizon’s verge, twenty miles at least being within the scope of their vision.

They aim not to scan it so far. For at a distance of little more than ten they observe that which at once fixes their glance: a dun yellowish disc—a cloud—with its base resting upon the plain.

“Smoke, no—but dust!” exclaims thegambusino, soon as sighting it; “and kicked up by the heels of horses—hundreds of them. There can be nothing else out there to cause that. Horses with men on their backs. If acaballadaof wild mustangs, the dust would show more scattered.Indios, por cierto! Carra-i!” he says in continuation, the shade on his brow sensibly darkening, as with a quick glance over his shoulder he sees real smoke in that direction. “What fools we’ve been to kindle fires! Rank madness. Better to have eaten breakfast raw. I myself most to blame of any; I should have known the danger. By this they’ll have spied our camp smoke—that of our shots, too. Ah,muchacho! we’ve been foolish in every way.”

Almost breathless from this burst of regret and self-recrimination, he is for a while silent; his heart beating audibly, however, as with gaze fixed on the far-off cloud, he endeavours to interpret it. But the dark cloud soon becomes less dense, partially dispersed, and under it appears something more solid; a clump of sombre hue, but with here and there sparkling points. No separate forms can as yet be made out; only a mass; but for all that, thegambusinoknows it to be composed of horses and men, the corruscations being the glint of arms and accoutrements, as the sun penetrates through to them.

“What a pity,” he exclaims, resuming speech, “I didn’t think of asking Don Estevan for the loan of his telescope! If we only had it here now! But I can see enough without it; ’tis as I feared. No more hunting for us to-day; but fighting ere the sun goes down—perhaps ere it reach meridian.Mira! the thing’s splitting into two. You see, señorito?”

The señorito does see that the dust-cloud has parted in twain, as also the dark mass underneath. And now they can distinguish separate forms; horses with men on their backs, and a more conspicuous glittering of arms, because of their being in motion.

“Ah, yes!” adds the Mexican, with increased gravity of tone, “Indios bravosthey are, hundreds of them. If Apaches, as sure they must, Heaven help us all! I know what they mean by that movement. They’ve sighted the camp smoke, and intend coming on along both sides of the Cerro. That’s why they’ve broken into two bands. Back to camp, as fast as our legs can carry us! We’ve not a minute—not a second—to lose.Vamos!”

And back for camp they start, not to spend time on the way as when coming from it, but in a run and rush along the path already opened—past the dead sheep, past the spring, and the strung-up turkeys, without even staying to look at these, much less think of taking them along.

The occupants of the miners’ camp, men, women, and children, are up and active now. Some are at work about the wagons, pouring water over their wheels to tighten the tyres, loose from the shrinking of the wood; others have set to mending harness and pack-saddles; while still others, out on the open plain, are changing the animals to fresh spots of pasturage. A small party is seen around the carcase of a bullock, in the act of skinning it to get beefsteaks for breakfast.

Several fires have been kindled, for the people are many, and have separate messes, according to rank and vocation. Around these are the women and grown girls, some bending over red earthenware pots that contain chocolate and coffee, others on their knees with themetatestone in front, andmetlapillain hand, crushing the boiled maize into paste for the indispensabletortillas. The children play by the lake’s edge, wading ankle-deep into the water, plashing about like little ducks; some of the bigger boys, who have improvised a rude tackle, endeavouring to catch fish. In this remote tarn there are such, as it has an affluent stream connecting it with the Rio Horcasitas—now nearly dry, but at times having a volume of water sufficient for the finny tribes to ascend to the lake, into which several species have found their way.

Within the space enclosed by the wagons—thecorral—three tents have been erected, and stand in a row. The middle one is a large square marquee, the two flanking it of the ordinary bell shape. The marquee is occupied by the senior partner and his señora; the one on the right by their daughter and an Indianmoza—her waiting-maid; the third affords shelter and sleeping quarters for the two Tresillians.

All three are for a time empty, their occupants having stepped out of them. As known, Henry Tresillian has gone up to the summit of the Cerro, and his father is moving about the camp in the company of themayor-domo, with an eye to superintendence of everything; while Don Estevan, his wife, and daughter, have strolled out along the lake’s edge to enjoy the refreshing breeze wafted over its water. The three promenaders have but made one turn along the sandy shore, and back again, when they hear a cry which not only alarms them, but all within and around the camp—

“Los Indios!”

It has been sent from above—from the head of the ravine; and everybody looks up—all eyes raised simultaneously. To see two men standing on a projecting point of rock, their figures sharply outlined against the blue background of sky; at the same time to recognise them as thegambusinoand Henry Tresillian. Only for an instant are these at a stand; only to shout down those terrible words of warning; then both bound into the gorge, and come on at a rush, with risk of breaking their necks.

At its bottom they are met by an excited, clamorous crowd; surrounded and assailed by a very tempest of interrogations. But to these they vouchsafe no answer beyond that implied in their shout; instead, push on to where Don Estevan and the elder Tresillian, now together, stand awaiting them. The senior partner is the first to speak, addressing himself to Vicente:

“You’ve seen Indians, Don Pedro? Where?”

“Out upon thellano, your worship—to north-eastward.”

“You’re sure of it being Indians?”

“Quite sure, señor. We were able to make horses with men on them; the men unlike any with a white skin, but just as those with a red one. Your worship can take my word for their being Indians.”

“I can, and do. But from what you say, it seems they’re still a good way off. How far, think you?”

“Ten miles or more, when we came away from the place where we saw them. They can’t be much nearer yet, as we’ve not been over ten minutes on the way.”

The quick time made by the hunters in return is attested by their breathing; both with nostrils agape and breasts heaving up and down as runners at the close of a hard-contested race.

“’Tis well they’re at such a distance,” rejoins Don Estevan. “And lucky your having sighted them before they got nearer.”

“Ah! señor, they’ll soon be near; for I know they’ve sighted us—at least the smoke of our camp, and are already making for it. Light horsemen as they don’t need long to traverse ten miles—on a plain like this.”

“That’s true,” assents theci-devantsoldier, with an air of troubled impatience. “What do you advise our doing, Don Pedro?”

“Well, for one thing, your worship, we mustn’t remain here. We must clear out of this camp as soon as possible. In an hour—ay, less—it may be too late.”

“Your words want explaining, Don Pedro. I don’t comprehend them. Clear out of the camp! But whither are we to go?”

“Arriba!” answers the guide, pointing to the gorge, “up yonder.”

“But we can’t take the animals there. And to carry up our goods there wouldn’t be time.”

“I know it, your worship. And glad we may be to get ourselves safe up.”

“Then we’re to abandon all? Is that what you advise?”

“It is. I’m sorry I can give no better advice. There’s no alternative if we wish to live.”

“To lose everything,” puts in the junior partner, “goods, animals, machinery! That would be a terrible calamity. Surely, Señor Vicente, we can defend the camp; our people are all well armed.”

“Impossible, Don Roberto; impossible were they ever so well armed. From what I could make out of the Indian party it numbers hundreds to our tens, sufficient of them to surround us on every side. And even if we could keep them off during daylight, at night they’d crawl close enough to set the camp on fire. Wagons, tilts, every stick and stitch of them are dry as tinder; the very pack-saddles would be ablaze with the first spark that fell on them.”

“But how know we that these Indians are hostile? After all, it may be some friendly band; perhaps Opatas?”

“No!” exclaims thegambusinoimpatiently. “I saw enough to know they’re not Opatas, normansosof any kind; enough to be sure they’rebravos, and almost sure, Apaches.”

“Apaches!” echo several voices in the surrounding, in tones proclaiming the dread with which this name inspires the heart of every Sonoreno. Every man present feels a creeping sensation in the skin of his head, as though the scalping-knife were being brandished around it.

“They’re coming from the direction where Apaches would come,” pursues Vicente. “Besides, they have no baggage; not a woman or child to be seen with them. All men, mounted and armed.”

“Indeed, if it be so,” rejoins Don Estevan, with brow now darkly shadowed, “we can expect no friendship from them.”

“No mercy either!” adds the gold-seeker. “Nor have we a right to expect it, after the treatment they’ve had at the hands of Captain Gil Perez and his men.”

All know to what Vicente alludes: a massacre of Apache Indians by a party of Mexican soldiers, after being lured and lulled into false security by professions of peace—cold-blooded and cruel, as any recorded in the annals of frontier warfare.

“I’ve said it. I’m good as sure they’re Apaches,” repeats thegambusino, more impressively. “And it would be madness, sheer insanity, to await them here. We must up to themesa.”

“But will we be safe there?”

“As in a citadel. No fortress ever contrived, or made by hand of man, is strong as the Cerro Perdido. Twenty men could hold it against as many hundreds—ay, thousands.Carramba! We may thank the Virgin for providing us with such a secure retreat; so handy, and just in the nick of time.”

“Then let us to it,” assents Don Estevan, after a brief consultation with his partner, who no longer opposes the step, though by it they may lose their all. “We’ll follow your advice, Señor Vicente; and you have our authority to order everything as it seems best to you.”

“I’ve only one order to give, your worships; that’sarriba! Up, all and everybody!”

Chapter Eight.Tender Leave-Takings.The excitement in the camp, already at full height, now changes to a quick, confused hurrying to and fro, accompanied by cries of many kinds. Here and there is heard the terrified scream of a woman, who, babe in arms, fancies the spear of a savage pointed at her breast, to impale herself and offspring.There is a rush for the gorge, up which a stream of human forms is soon seen swarming as ants up their hill. And, with a gallantry which distinguishes the miner as the mariner, the women and children are permitted foremost place in the upward retreat, assisted by husbands.Without serious accident all succeed in reaching the summit, where the women are left, the men who went with them hurrying back below. It is hard to part with valuable property and cherished household gods—still harder to see these appropriated by a hated enemy—and an effort is to be made for saving what can be saved. At first they only thought of their lives; but half a dozen men, who had sprung to their horses at the earliest moment of alarm, and galloped out beyond the mountain’s flank to get better view, signal back that the Indians are not yet in sight. So there is still a chance to take up a portion of the camp equipage, with such goods as are likely to be most needed in the event of their having to sustain a siege.“The ammunition and provender first!” shouts Vicente, back again at camp, with full authority of direction. “Take up everything that’s food for man and loading for gun. After that whatever we’ll have time for.”Knowing their women now safe, the men work with spirit; and soon a different sort of stream is seen ascending the gorge: a string of burden-bearers, continuous from plain to summit; hastily returning down again, relieved of their loads, to take up others. Never were bees so busy. Some remain below, getting the goods out of the wagons, and making packages of them, convenient for the difficult transport. The bales and boxes—lading of the pack-mules—are broken open, and their more valuable effects picked out and carried off; so that in a short space of time not much remains save the mining tools and machinery, with the heavier articles of house furniture.Could the Rattlesnake have known of this quick precautionary sacking of the camp by its owners, he and his would have approached it in greater haste. But they are seen coming on now. The mounted videttes have at length signalled them in sight, they themselves galloping in at the same time, and dropping down from their horses.There is a last gathering up of bundles, which includes the two smaller tents—the marquee left standing. Then the finaldebandade; all turning face towards the gorge, and toiling up it.No, not all as yet; more than one lingers below. For the horses must needs be left behind; impossible to take them up a steep where only goat, sheep, or clawed creature might go. And more than one has a master who parts with it reluctantly. Regretfully, too, at thought of its changing owner, and to such owner as will soon enter upon possession. Even some of the teamsters and muleteers have an affection for their mules, the headarrieroregarding the wholeatajoas his children, and the “bell-mare” almost as a mother. Many a long mile and league has he listened to her guiding bell; its cheerful tinkle proclaiming the route clear along narrow dizzy ledge, or through deep defile. And now he will hear its music no more.But the ties must be severed, the parting take place. Which it does, amidst phrases and ejaculations of leave-taking, tender as though the left ones were human beings instead of dumb brutes. “Caballo—caballito querido!” “Mula-mulita mia!” “Pobre-pobrecita!Dios te guarda!” And mingled with these are exclamations of a less gentle kind—anathemas hurled at the redskins coming on to take possession of their pets.At this last Pedro Vicente is among the loudest. As yet he has had only half-payment for his late discovered mine, the remaining moiety dependent on the working it. And now the crash—all the mining apparatus to be destroyed—perhaps the purchasing firm made bankrupt, if even life be left them. Thinking of all this, and what he has already suffered at the hands of “Los Indios” no wonder at his cursing them. He, however, is not one of those taking affectionate and sentimental farewell of their animals. His horse is a late purchase, and though of fine appearance, has proved aught but a bargain. For there are “copers” in Arispe as elsewhere, and thegambusinohas been their victim. Hence he parts with the disappointing steed neither regretfully nor reluctantly. But not with the saddle and bridle; these, of elaborate adornment having cost him far more than the horse. So shouldering them, he too re-ascends, last of all save one.That one is Henry Tresillian; and very different is the parting between him and the animal of his belonging. The English youth almost sheds tears as he stands by his horse’s head, patting his neck and stroking his muzzle, the last time he may ever lay hand on either. Nay, surely, too surely, the last. And the noble creature seems to know it too, responding to the caress by a low mournful whimpering.“Ah! my beautiful Crusader! to think I must leave you behind! And to be ridden by a redskin—a cruel savage who will take no care of you. Oh! it is hard—hard!”Crusader appears to comprehend what is said, for his answer is something like a moan. It may be that he interprets the melancholy expression on his master’s face—that master who has been so kind to him.“A last farewell, brave fellow! Be it a kiss,” says the youth, bringing his lips in contact with those of the horse. Then pulling off the headstall, with its attached trail-rope, and letting them drop to the ground, he again speaks the sad word “farewell,” and, turning back on his beloved steed, walks hurriedly and determinedly away, as though fearing resolution might fail him.Soon he commences climbing up the gorge; all the others who have gone before now nearly out of it. But ere he has ascended ten steps, he hears that behind which causes him to stop and look back. Not in alarm: he knows it to be the neigh of his own horse, accompanied by the stroke of his hoofs in quick repetition—Crusader coming on in a gallop for the gorge. In another instant he is by its bottom, on hind legs, rearing up against the rocky steep, as if determined to scale it.In vain: after an effort he drops back on all fours. But to rear up and try again and again, all the while giving utterance to wild, agonised neighs—very screams.To Henry Tresillian the sight is saddening, the sound torture, stirring his heart to its deepest depths. To escape the seeing—though he cannot so soon the hearing—he once more turns his back upon the horse, and hastens on upward. But when halfway to the head, he cannot resist taking another downward look. Which shows him Crusader yet by the bottom of the gorge, but now standing still on all fours, as if resigned to the inevitable. Not silent, however; instead, at short intervals, giving utterance to that neigh of melancholy cadence, alike proclaiming discomfiture and despair.

The excitement in the camp, already at full height, now changes to a quick, confused hurrying to and fro, accompanied by cries of many kinds. Here and there is heard the terrified scream of a woman, who, babe in arms, fancies the spear of a savage pointed at her breast, to impale herself and offspring.

There is a rush for the gorge, up which a stream of human forms is soon seen swarming as ants up their hill. And, with a gallantry which distinguishes the miner as the mariner, the women and children are permitted foremost place in the upward retreat, assisted by husbands.

Without serious accident all succeed in reaching the summit, where the women are left, the men who went with them hurrying back below. It is hard to part with valuable property and cherished household gods—still harder to see these appropriated by a hated enemy—and an effort is to be made for saving what can be saved. At first they only thought of their lives; but half a dozen men, who had sprung to their horses at the earliest moment of alarm, and galloped out beyond the mountain’s flank to get better view, signal back that the Indians are not yet in sight. So there is still a chance to take up a portion of the camp equipage, with such goods as are likely to be most needed in the event of their having to sustain a siege.

“The ammunition and provender first!” shouts Vicente, back again at camp, with full authority of direction. “Take up everything that’s food for man and loading for gun. After that whatever we’ll have time for.”

Knowing their women now safe, the men work with spirit; and soon a different sort of stream is seen ascending the gorge: a string of burden-bearers, continuous from plain to summit; hastily returning down again, relieved of their loads, to take up others. Never were bees so busy. Some remain below, getting the goods out of the wagons, and making packages of them, convenient for the difficult transport. The bales and boxes—lading of the pack-mules—are broken open, and their more valuable effects picked out and carried off; so that in a short space of time not much remains save the mining tools and machinery, with the heavier articles of house furniture.

Could the Rattlesnake have known of this quick precautionary sacking of the camp by its owners, he and his would have approached it in greater haste. But they are seen coming on now. The mounted videttes have at length signalled them in sight, they themselves galloping in at the same time, and dropping down from their horses.

There is a last gathering up of bundles, which includes the two smaller tents—the marquee left standing. Then the finaldebandade; all turning face towards the gorge, and toiling up it.

No, not all as yet; more than one lingers below. For the horses must needs be left behind; impossible to take them up a steep where only goat, sheep, or clawed creature might go. And more than one has a master who parts with it reluctantly. Regretfully, too, at thought of its changing owner, and to such owner as will soon enter upon possession. Even some of the teamsters and muleteers have an affection for their mules, the headarrieroregarding the wholeatajoas his children, and the “bell-mare” almost as a mother. Many a long mile and league has he listened to her guiding bell; its cheerful tinkle proclaiming the route clear along narrow dizzy ledge, or through deep defile. And now he will hear its music no more.

But the ties must be severed, the parting take place. Which it does, amidst phrases and ejaculations of leave-taking, tender as though the left ones were human beings instead of dumb brutes. “Caballo—caballito querido!” “Mula-mulita mia!” “Pobre-pobrecita!Dios te guarda!” And mingled with these are exclamations of a less gentle kind—anathemas hurled at the redskins coming on to take possession of their pets.

At this last Pedro Vicente is among the loudest. As yet he has had only half-payment for his late discovered mine, the remaining moiety dependent on the working it. And now the crash—all the mining apparatus to be destroyed—perhaps the purchasing firm made bankrupt, if even life be left them. Thinking of all this, and what he has already suffered at the hands of “Los Indios” no wonder at his cursing them. He, however, is not one of those taking affectionate and sentimental farewell of their animals. His horse is a late purchase, and though of fine appearance, has proved aught but a bargain. For there are “copers” in Arispe as elsewhere, and thegambusinohas been their victim. Hence he parts with the disappointing steed neither regretfully nor reluctantly. But not with the saddle and bridle; these, of elaborate adornment having cost him far more than the horse. So shouldering them, he too re-ascends, last of all save one.

That one is Henry Tresillian; and very different is the parting between him and the animal of his belonging. The English youth almost sheds tears as he stands by his horse’s head, patting his neck and stroking his muzzle, the last time he may ever lay hand on either. Nay, surely, too surely, the last. And the noble creature seems to know it too, responding to the caress by a low mournful whimpering.

“Ah! my beautiful Crusader! to think I must leave you behind! And to be ridden by a redskin—a cruel savage who will take no care of you. Oh! it is hard—hard!”

Crusader appears to comprehend what is said, for his answer is something like a moan. It may be that he interprets the melancholy expression on his master’s face—that master who has been so kind to him.

“A last farewell, brave fellow! Be it a kiss,” says the youth, bringing his lips in contact with those of the horse. Then pulling off the headstall, with its attached trail-rope, and letting them drop to the ground, he again speaks the sad word “farewell,” and, turning back on his beloved steed, walks hurriedly and determinedly away, as though fearing resolution might fail him.

Soon he commences climbing up the gorge; all the others who have gone before now nearly out of it. But ere he has ascended ten steps, he hears that behind which causes him to stop and look back. Not in alarm: he knows it to be the neigh of his own horse, accompanied by the stroke of his hoofs in quick repetition—Crusader coming on in a gallop for the gorge. In another instant he is by its bottom, on hind legs, rearing up against the rocky steep, as if determined to scale it.

In vain: after an effort he drops back on all fours. But to rear up and try again and again, all the while giving utterance to wild, agonised neighs—very screams.

To Henry Tresillian the sight is saddening, the sound torture, stirring his heart to its deepest depths. To escape the seeing—though he cannot so soon the hearing—he once more turns his back upon the horse, and hastens on upward. But when halfway to the head, he cannot resist taking another downward look. Which shows him Crusader yet by the bottom of the gorge, but now standing still on all fours, as if resigned to the inevitable. Not silent, however; instead, at short intervals, giving utterance to that neigh of melancholy cadence, alike proclaiming discomfiture and despair.

Chapter Nine.“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 theci-devantsoldier, 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 señora 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 thembravos, and of some hostile tribe.By this it might appear as if thegambusinobore 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 theojo de agua. There the English youth tarries a moment—only a brief one—to exchange a word with the señora, 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, señorito! 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. Thegambusinocan 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.

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 theci-devantsoldier, 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 señora 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 thembravos, and of some hostile tribe.

By this it might appear as if thegambusinobore 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 theojo de agua. There the English youth tarries a moment—only a brief one—to exchange a word with the señora, 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, señorito! 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. Thegambusinocan 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.

Chapter Ten.An Enfilading Line.The “stone artillery” has been got together; a huge pile of it, forming at the same time protecting parapet and battery of guns; the men have desisted from their work, and having nothing more to do, at least for a time, stand listening for the signals. They know that such have been arranged, without having been told their exact bearing.But they are soon to learn it; almost instantly after hearing a shot, and then quick succeeding it another, as the discharges from a double-barrelled gun.“The Indians coming on, and near!” says Don Estevan, interpreting to those around. “We may look to see them soon yonder.”He nods towards the abandoned camp, a portion of which is visible from the head of the gorge.This causes a turning of all eyes in its direction, and on thellanobeyond. But scarce have they commenced scanning it when two other shots, less loud but with a like interval between, reach their ears, proceeding from the same quarter.“The pistols—signals three and four!” mechanically pronounces the ex-officer of dragoons, his sallow features showing further clouded. “There’s no more to listen for now,” he adds. “Don Pedro was right. Apaches they must be, and on a marauding expedition—likely for the towns of the Horcasitas, and, unluckily, we in their way. Ah,amigos! it’s an ill look-out for us; could not well be worse.”But worse it is, as they are yet to learn. And soon do learn from the lips of thegambusino, who, returning in breathless haste, cries out ere he is up to them,“Los Coyoteros! The band of El Cascabel!”Words of terrible portent, needing no explanation, for they recall to the minds of all present that sanguinary incident already alluded to. The dastardly deed of Captain Perez and his ruffianly soldiery is likely to be retaliated on men, not only themselves guiltless, but every one of whom has condemned it! For how can they expect mercy from the friends and relatives of his murdered victims? How hope for any distinction or exception in their favour? They cannot, and do not, knowing that ever since that inhuman massacre the Apaches have treated every paleface as a foe, the Coyoteros killing all prisoners that fall into their hands, after torturing them.“You think it’s the band of Cascabel?”It is Don Estevan who questions in rejoinder to thegambusino’sbrief but expressive report.“Think! I’m sure of it, your worship. Through this good glass of yours I recognised that savage himself, knowing him too well. It enabled me to make out histotem, the pretty device on his breast, of which this on mine’s but a poor copy.Mira!”While speaking, he unbuttons his shirt-front and draws the plaits apart, as a screen from some precious picture, exposing to the view of all what he had already shown to Henry Tresillian. As most of them remember having heard of the sepulchral symbol borne by the Coyotero chief, with that other more appropriate to his name, they now know the sort of enemy that is approaching, and what they have to expect. No more among them is there hope of either friendship or mercy. On one side, the stronger, it will be attack hostile and vengeful; on the other, and weaker—theirs, alas!—it must be resistance and defence even unto death.Though fully convinced of this, the miners remain calm, with that confidence due to danger seeming still distant. They know they are safe for the time, unassailable, thegambusinohaving given them assurance of it. But they now see it for themselves, and any apprehensions they have are less for the present than the future. Sure are they that a siege is before them, how long they cannot guess, nor in which way it will terminate. And there may be chances of relief or escape they have not thought of. Hope is hard to kill, and the least hopeful of them has not yet yielded to despair. Time enough for that when starvation stares them in the face, for hunger—famine—is the foe they have most to fear.But they think not of things so far ahead. They must first see the enemy of which their guide has given such awe-inspiring account; and, with glances sent abroad and over that portion of the plain visible to them, they await his appearance on it.Nearly another hour elapses without any enemy seen. The horses and mules have got over their late excitement, and are again tranquilly depasturing, some having waded into the lake to cool their hoofs, still hot after their longjornada. But none wander away from the proximity of the camp; the only animals out on the plain being prong-horn antelopes, a herd of which, on their way to the water too, has been deterred approaching it by the presence of huge monsters unknown to them—the wagons. But these have not hindered the approach of the black-winged birds; instead, attracted them, and a large flock is now around the abandoned camp, some wheeling above, others at rest on the ground or perched upon the rock-boulders which bestrew it. A crowd, collected on the spot where the ox had been butchered for breakfast, contest possession of its offal.All of a sudden, and simultaneously, a movement is perceptible among the animals, birds as quadrupeds, the wild as the tame. The prong-horns with a snort raise their heads aloft as if they saw or scented some new danger, then lope off at lightning speed. The vultures take wing, but only rise a little way into the air, to soar round in circles; while the horses, mules, and horned cattle, as if seized by a frenzy of madness, rush excitedly about, wildly neighing and bellowing, at each instant threatening to break away in stampede.“They smell redskin,” knowingly observes thegambusino, who is among the rest watching their movements. “Yes; and we’ll soon see the ugly thing itself.Chingara! yonder it is.”He has no need to point out either the thing or the place. The eyes of all are now on it; the head of a dusky cohort just appearing round the eastern projection of the Cerro, becoming elongated as file after file unfolds itself. They are still afar off—at least a league—nor is their line of march directed towards the mountain, but westward, as though they intended turning it.No such manoeuvre is meant, however, as the miners, forewarned by their guide, are already aware. His words are made good by their seeing soon after another dark line developing itself on thellano, at a like distance off, but coming from the opposite direction.“The party that went west about,” says thegambusino, half in soliloquy; “cunning in them to make a complete surround of us. I suppose they thought we were but horsemen, and might get away from them. If they’d seen our wagons, it would have saved them some trouble. Well, they see everything now.”No one makes rejoinder, all intently gazing at the two marching bands, now with eyes on one, then quickly transferred to the other. The portion of the plain visible is sextant-shaped—the view on either side cut off by the flanking ridges of the ravine—and from each side the string of savage horsemen is continuously lengthening out. Not rapidly, but in slow leisurely crawl, as if confident they had already secured the enfiladement of the camp. With a thicker concentration near the head of each, and a metallic sparkle all along their line—the sheen of their armour under the rays of the meridian sun—they appear as two huge serpents of antediluvian age, deliberately drawing towards one another either for friendship or combat.In due time their front files come together, near the central part of the sextant; though the rear ones are still invisible;—how many of these no one knows, save approximately. Enough, however, are already in sight to make a formidable array, and put all thought of conflict with them out of the question. The miners but congratulate themselves on their fortune in finding that secure place of retreat, which will enable them to shun it. Grateful are they to their guide for making it known—and they have reason. If within their late camp instead of where they now are, the hours of their life would be numbered—perhaps to count only minutes. At the best they could but save bare life for a time, but nothing to comfort or sustain it.All this they have come to comprehend thoroughly as they continue to watch the movements of the Coyoteros, and see the cordon these have drawn around them. But for some minutes there is no movement at all, the bands after uniting having come to a halt, the files making quarter-wheel, so as to face the Cerro—all done as by trained cavalry on a parade-ground! And for a while they stay halted, the change of front giving their alignment a thinner look. But at the central point is a thicker clump, without military formation, on which Don Estevan directs his telescope. To see half a dozen of the mounted savages face to face with one another, earnestly, excitedly gesticulating. After a look through it, he tenders the glass to thegambusino, who may better understand what they are about.“El Cascabel and his sub-chiefs in consultation,” pronounces the latter, soon as sighting them. “It’s plain they’re puzzled by seeing wagons where never were such before. Like as not they think we’resoldados, and that makes them cautious. But they’ll soon know different.Por Dios! they know it now. They’re coming on!”

The “stone artillery” has been got together; a huge pile of it, forming at the same time protecting parapet and battery of guns; the men have desisted from their work, and having nothing more to do, at least for a time, stand listening for the signals. They know that such have been arranged, without having been told their exact bearing.

But they are soon to learn it; almost instantly after hearing a shot, and then quick succeeding it another, as the discharges from a double-barrelled gun.

“The Indians coming on, and near!” says Don Estevan, interpreting to those around. “We may look to see them soon yonder.”

He nods towards the abandoned camp, a portion of which is visible from the head of the gorge.

This causes a turning of all eyes in its direction, and on thellanobeyond. But scarce have they commenced scanning it when two other shots, less loud but with a like interval between, reach their ears, proceeding from the same quarter.

“The pistols—signals three and four!” mechanically pronounces the ex-officer of dragoons, his sallow features showing further clouded. “There’s no more to listen for now,” he adds. “Don Pedro was right. Apaches they must be, and on a marauding expedition—likely for the towns of the Horcasitas, and, unluckily, we in their way. Ah,amigos! it’s an ill look-out for us; could not well be worse.”

But worse it is, as they are yet to learn. And soon do learn from the lips of thegambusino, who, returning in breathless haste, cries out ere he is up to them,

“Los Coyoteros! The band of El Cascabel!”

Words of terrible portent, needing no explanation, for they recall to the minds of all present that sanguinary incident already alluded to. The dastardly deed of Captain Perez and his ruffianly soldiery is likely to be retaliated on men, not only themselves guiltless, but every one of whom has condemned it! For how can they expect mercy from the friends and relatives of his murdered victims? How hope for any distinction or exception in their favour? They cannot, and do not, knowing that ever since that inhuman massacre the Apaches have treated every paleface as a foe, the Coyoteros killing all prisoners that fall into their hands, after torturing them.

“You think it’s the band of Cascabel?”

It is Don Estevan who questions in rejoinder to thegambusino’sbrief but expressive report.

“Think! I’m sure of it, your worship. Through this good glass of yours I recognised that savage himself, knowing him too well. It enabled me to make out histotem, the pretty device on his breast, of which this on mine’s but a poor copy.Mira!”

While speaking, he unbuttons his shirt-front and draws the plaits apart, as a screen from some precious picture, exposing to the view of all what he had already shown to Henry Tresillian. As most of them remember having heard of the sepulchral symbol borne by the Coyotero chief, with that other more appropriate to his name, they now know the sort of enemy that is approaching, and what they have to expect. No more among them is there hope of either friendship or mercy. On one side, the stronger, it will be attack hostile and vengeful; on the other, and weaker—theirs, alas!—it must be resistance and defence even unto death.

Though fully convinced of this, the miners remain calm, with that confidence due to danger seeming still distant. They know they are safe for the time, unassailable, thegambusinohaving given them assurance of it. But they now see it for themselves, and any apprehensions they have are less for the present than the future. Sure are they that a siege is before them, how long they cannot guess, nor in which way it will terminate. And there may be chances of relief or escape they have not thought of. Hope is hard to kill, and the least hopeful of them has not yet yielded to despair. Time enough for that when starvation stares them in the face, for hunger—famine—is the foe they have most to fear.

But they think not of things so far ahead. They must first see the enemy of which their guide has given such awe-inspiring account; and, with glances sent abroad and over that portion of the plain visible to them, they await his appearance on it.

Nearly another hour elapses without any enemy seen. The horses and mules have got over their late excitement, and are again tranquilly depasturing, some having waded into the lake to cool their hoofs, still hot after their longjornada. But none wander away from the proximity of the camp; the only animals out on the plain being prong-horn antelopes, a herd of which, on their way to the water too, has been deterred approaching it by the presence of huge monsters unknown to them—the wagons. But these have not hindered the approach of the black-winged birds; instead, attracted them, and a large flock is now around the abandoned camp, some wheeling above, others at rest on the ground or perched upon the rock-boulders which bestrew it. A crowd, collected on the spot where the ox had been butchered for breakfast, contest possession of its offal.

All of a sudden, and simultaneously, a movement is perceptible among the animals, birds as quadrupeds, the wild as the tame. The prong-horns with a snort raise their heads aloft as if they saw or scented some new danger, then lope off at lightning speed. The vultures take wing, but only rise a little way into the air, to soar round in circles; while the horses, mules, and horned cattle, as if seized by a frenzy of madness, rush excitedly about, wildly neighing and bellowing, at each instant threatening to break away in stampede.

“They smell redskin,” knowingly observes thegambusino, who is among the rest watching their movements. “Yes; and we’ll soon see the ugly thing itself.Chingara! yonder it is.”

He has no need to point out either the thing or the place. The eyes of all are now on it; the head of a dusky cohort just appearing round the eastern projection of the Cerro, becoming elongated as file after file unfolds itself. They are still afar off—at least a league—nor is their line of march directed towards the mountain, but westward, as though they intended turning it.

No such manoeuvre is meant, however, as the miners, forewarned by their guide, are already aware. His words are made good by their seeing soon after another dark line developing itself on thellano, at a like distance off, but coming from the opposite direction.

“The party that went west about,” says thegambusino, half in soliloquy; “cunning in them to make a complete surround of us. I suppose they thought we were but horsemen, and might get away from them. If they’d seen our wagons, it would have saved them some trouble. Well, they see everything now.”

No one makes rejoinder, all intently gazing at the two marching bands, now with eyes on one, then quickly transferred to the other. The portion of the plain visible is sextant-shaped—the view on either side cut off by the flanking ridges of the ravine—and from each side the string of savage horsemen is continuously lengthening out. Not rapidly, but in slow leisurely crawl, as if confident they had already secured the enfiladement of the camp. With a thicker concentration near the head of each, and a metallic sparkle all along their line—the sheen of their armour under the rays of the meridian sun—they appear as two huge serpents of antediluvian age, deliberately drawing towards one another either for friendship or combat.

In due time their front files come together, near the central part of the sextant; though the rear ones are still invisible;—how many of these no one knows, save approximately. Enough, however, are already in sight to make a formidable array, and put all thought of conflict with them out of the question. The miners but congratulate themselves on their fortune in finding that secure place of retreat, which will enable them to shun it. Grateful are they to their guide for making it known—and they have reason. If within their late camp instead of where they now are, the hours of their life would be numbered—perhaps to count only minutes. At the best they could but save bare life for a time, but nothing to comfort or sustain it.

All this they have come to comprehend thoroughly as they continue to watch the movements of the Coyoteros, and see the cordon these have drawn around them. But for some minutes there is no movement at all, the bands after uniting having come to a halt, the files making quarter-wheel, so as to face the Cerro—all done as by trained cavalry on a parade-ground! And for a while they stay halted, the change of front giving their alignment a thinner look. But at the central point is a thicker clump, without military formation, on which Don Estevan directs his telescope. To see half a dozen of the mounted savages face to face with one another, earnestly, excitedly gesticulating. After a look through it, he tenders the glass to thegambusino, who may better understand what they are about.

“El Cascabel and his sub-chiefs in consultation,” pronounces the latter, soon as sighting them. “It’s plain they’re puzzled by seeing wagons where never were such before. Like as not they think we’resoldados, and that makes them cautious. But they’ll soon know different.Por Dios! they know it now. They’re coming on!”

Back to IndexNext