Chapter Thirty.
The Raiders Returned
Another ten days have elapsed, and they on the Cerro Perdido are held there rigorously as ever; a strong guard kept constantly stationed at both points where it is possible for them to reach the plain.
In the interval no incident of any note has arisen to vary the monotony of their lives. One day is just as the other, with little to occupy them, save the watch by the ravine’s head, which needs to be maintained with vigilance unabated.
But much change has arisen both in their circumstances and appearance. With provision wellnigh out, they have been for days on less than half allowance, and famine has set its stamp on their features. Pallid, hollow cheeks, with eyes sunken in their sockets, are seen all around; and some of the weaker ones begin to totter in their steps, till the place more resembles the grounds of an hospital than an encampment of travellers. They have miscalculated their resources, which gave out sooner than expected.
In this lamentably forlorn condition they are still uncertain as to the fate of their messenger, their doubts about his safety increasing every day – every hour. Not that they suppose him to have fallen into the hands of the Coyoteros. On the contrary, they are convinced of his having escaped, else some signs of his capture would have been apparent in the Indian camp, and none such are observed. But other contingencies may have arisen: an accident to himself, or his horse, delaying him on the route, if not stopping him altogether.
Or may it be, as Don Estevan has said, that Colonel Requeñes with his soldiers is absent from Arispe, and there is a difficulty in raising a force of civilians sufficient for effecting their rescue?
These conjectures, with many others, pass through their minds, producing a despondency, now at its darkest and deepest. For at first, in their impatience, blind to probabilities, they fancied theirs a winged messenger – a Mercury, who should have brought them succour long since. That bright dream is passed, and the reaction has set in, gloomy as shadow of death itself.
Nor seems there to be much cheer in the camp of their besiegers. They can look down upon it from a distance near enough to distinguish the individual forms of the savages, and note all their actions in the open. Through the telescope can be read even the expressions on their features, showing that they, too, have their anxieties and apprehensions; no doubt from the black horse and his rider having got away from them.
Their scouts are still observed to come and go. Some are sent northward, others to the south; the last evidently to look out for the return of the raiding party gone down the Horcasitas.
Another day passes, and they are seen coming back, at a pace which betokens their bringing a report of an important nature. That it is a welcome one to their comrades in the camp can be told by their shouts of triumph as they approach.
Soon after they upon the mesa are made aware of the cause, by seeing the red marauders themselves coming on towards the camp, in array very different from that when leaving it. Instead of only their arms and light equipments, every man of them is now laden with spoil, every horse besides his rider carrying a load, either on withers or croup. And they have other horses with them now – a caballada– mules, too, all under pack and burden.
No, not all. As the long straggling line draws closer to the Cerro, they on its summit see a number of these animals bearing on their backs something more than the loot of plundered houses. They see women, most of them appearing to be young girls.
As they are conducted on to the camp, and inside its enclosure, Don Estevan, viewing them through his telescope, can trace upon their persons, as their features, all the signs and lines proclaiming utter despair: dresses torn, hair hanging dishevelled, and eyes downcast, with not a ray or spark of hope in them.
Others look through the glass, to be pained by the heart-saddening spectacle; each of the married ones, as he views it, thinking of his own wife or daughter, in fear their fate may be the same – a fate too horrid to be dwelt upon in thought, much less to be talked about.
This day they are not permitted to see more. Twilight is already on, and night’s darkness, almost instantly succeeding, shuts out from their view everything below.
But if they see not, they can hear. There are continuous noises in the camp throughout the rest of the night – cries and joyous ejaculations. The Coyoteros have made a grand coup: much plunder acquired, many prisoners taken, and pale-faced foes slain, almost to a glut of vengeance. They are greatly jubilant, and yield themselves to a very paean of rejoicing, their boasts and exulting shouts at intervals reverberating along the cliffs.
It is another night of carousal with them, as that when they first sate down to the siege; for among the proceeds of their recent maraud are several pig-skins of aguardiente, and this fiery spirit, freely distributed, excites them almost to madness.
So loud are their yells, so angrily, vengefully intoned, that they who listen above begin to fear they may at length become reckless, and, coûte que coûte, risk the assault so long unattempted. In such numbers now, feeling their strength, they may hold a little loss light. Besides, there is still that apprehension from the side of Arispe; it may further urge them to a desperate deed, which, if not done at once, must be left undone, and the siege ingloriously abandoned.
These are but the conjectures of the besieged, who, acting upon them, keep watch throughout the remainder of the night. Never more wakeful, seemingly, though never less needed; for up till the hour of dawn, no assailant is seen approaching the gorge, no sound heard of any one attempting to scale that steep acclivity.
Of those fearing that they will try, Pedro Vicente is not among the number. Endeavouring to give confidence to his doubting companions, he says,
“I know the Coyoteros too well to suppose them such fools. Not all the aguardiente in Sonora will make them mad enough to expose themselves to our battery of stones. They don’t forget our having it here, and that we’re watching their every movement; ready to rain a storm of rocks on them if they but come under its range. So, camarados, keep up heart and courage! We’ve nothing more to fear to-day than we had yesterday. That’s hunger, not their spears or scalping-knives.”
Fortified by the gambusino’s words, they to whom they are addressed feel their confidence restored – enough to inspire them with further patience and endurance.
Chapter Thirty One.
The Rescuers en Route
“Son! that’s the Lost Mountain, is it?”
“It is, Colonel.”
“Gracias a Dios! Glad we’ve sighted it at last. How far do you think we’re from it, señorito? Nigh twenty miles, I take it; though it looks nearer.”
“’Tis all of twenty miles, Colonel; so our guide said when we first saw it from the place.”
“I can quite believe it. On these high plains distances are very deceptive; but my experience enables me to judge pretty correctly.”
The dialogue is between Colonel Requeñes and Henry Tresillian; the latter acting as guide to the expedition en route to release those imprisoned on the Cerro Perdido. Others are beside them; Don Juliano with his son, the young aide-de-camp, and several officers of the staff; their escort forming an advanced guard. Not far behind it, the howitzer battery, followed by the lancer regiment in open order; then Romero’s irregulars, closed by a troop of lancers as rear-guard, completing the marching column.
All are at halt, brought to it as soon as the Cerro was sighted. They have been on march from an early hour by moonlight, and as the sun, now rising, has lit up the plain afar, the solitary eminence can be clearly seen. As may be deduced from the young Englishman’s words, the point they have arrived at is the same where the caravan had temporarily come to a stop – the very spot itself; for close by is the tree bearing the initials of the gambusino.
“Well, caballeros,” continues the Colonel, “we’ve done our best so far; pray God to good purpose. Let us hope we’re in time. I wonder how it is? What’s your thought, Romero?”
“I have none, Requeñes – only hopes that they’ve held out.”
“I wish,” pursues the Colonel, in half soliloquy, “we but knew for certain; ’twould make an important difference as to how I dispose of my force. Should they be still there – ”
“Señor Colonel,” interposes the youthful guide, “if you’ll let me have a look through your telescope, I think I can settle that point.”
This, as he sees the commanding officer drawing his field-glass from its case.
“In welcome, señorito. Here!” and he hands him the telescope.
Instantly it is brought to his eye, and eagerly – his fingers trembling as they hold it out. What he hopes to see will tell him that his father and friends still live; if he sees it not, he will know they are dead; and she, dearer than all, condemned to a fate far worse!
What a change comes over his countenance almost on the instant of his raising the glass to his eye! Hitherto grave to apprehension, all at once it lights joyously up, as from his lips proceed the words, “They’re still on the mountain; Heaven be praised!”
“If it be so, Heaven deserves praise – all our thanks. But how know you, señorito?”
“By the flag!”
“What flag?”
“Take the glass, Colonel; look for yourself.”
Receiving back the telescope, and adjusting it to his sight, Requeñes levels it at the Lost Mountain.
“At the nearest end, up on the summit,” pursues Henry Tresillian, instructingly, “you’ll see it. It is the flag of Mexico. Don Estevan intended to have raised it over his new mine, and had it hoisted yonder in the hope it might be seen by some white men, and lead to our situation being made known. It has proved of service now; telling us our friends are still in the land of the living. If they were not it wouldn’t be there.”
“You’re right, señorito, it wouldn’t. And it is there – I see it! – yes, can even make out the national insignia – the eagle and nopal. We may thank Heaven, indeed.”
“And we do!” exclaims the ganadero, raising his hat reverentially, all following his example.
A thrill of exultation runs like wildfire backward on to the extremest rear – a joyous excitement, as the soldiers learn they have not made their long march in vain, and that the foe is before them, not far oft. For the banner waving above proclaims the siege still continued, and the Indians keeping it up.
“They are there,” affirms the Colonel, after gazing some time through his glass. “I can see the smoke ascending from their camp fires. No doubt by this they’ll be cooking their breakfasts. Well, we won’t be in time to hinder their having that meal; but if they eat dinner this day, without my leave, I shall be willing to throw up my commission as colonel of the Zacatecas Lancers. Now, gentlemen!” he adds, turning to his staff, and summoning his chief officers around him in council of war, “the enemy is yonder; no doubt of it. ’Tis a question as to how we should advance upon him. Give your opinion, Major Garcia.”
“How many are there supposed to be, Colonel?” asks the major, a sage, grizzled veteran. “Our mode of approaching them should much depend upon that.”
“Unluckily I can’t tell,” says the Commander-in-chief; “there were wellnigh five hundred all told when together; but it appears that half went off on a raid down the Horcasitas, the other half remaining to carry on the siege. If the raiders are returned and are now among the besiegers, then we’ll have their full force to deal with, and may expect a sharp fight for it. I know these redskins of old, the band of the Rattlesnake; though, as our young friend informs me, that worthy has ceased to exist, and the Vulture reigns in his stead. All the worse for us, as Zopilote was the master of Cascabel in tactics, cunning, courage – everything. Never mind, we should only be too glad to meet the renowned warrior, if but for glory’s sake.”
While the Colonel is still speaking a voice is heard to rearward, with exclamations telling of excitement there. Immediately after a subaltern officer of the rear-guard advances rapidly to the front, conducting a strange horseman, whose dress, travel-stained, with the sweat and dust upon his horse, betokens him just arrived from a journey long and hurriedly made. A messenger on some errand, which his wan, woebegone face bespeaks to be of the saddest.
“Whence come you, amigo?” demands the commanding officer, as the stranger is brought face to face with him.
“From Nacomori, on the Horcasitas, Señor Colonel,” is the answer.
“On what business?” asks Requeñes, more than half divining it.
“Oh, señor, the Indians have been there; killed scores of our people – children as grown men; plundered and burnt our houses; carried off all our young women; made rack and ruin of everything. I rode to Arispe, hoping to find you there, but you were gone, and I’ve hastened hither after you.”
“What Indians? Where did they come from?”
“From the north, señor; down the river. Apaches, we thought; but it was in the night they came upon us, and no one could be sure. When morning came they had gone off with everything.”
“What night? How long since this occurred?”
“The night of Lunes– just four days ago.”
“The raiding party of the Coyoteros, gentlemen,” says the Colonel to his surrounding. “The time corresponds, the place – everything; and likely they’ve got back, and are now by the Cerro yonder. If so, we have others to rescue beside our own friends; with chastisement to inflict on the red-handed marauders, to say nothing of revenge. So much the more reason for our not losing time. Major! order the regiment to close up and form line. Let the others be drawn in also; I want to say a word to them.”
With a quickness due to thorough discipline, the lancers are brought into battle line; not for fight now, but to receive an address. Thrown forward on one flank, and facing inwards, are the light artillerists; while on the other in file form are Romero’s irregulars.
Placing himself in a position to be heard by all, the Commander-in-chief cries out:
“Camarados! at the base of yonder hill, where you see smoke rising, is the enemy. Apaches – Coyoteros – as we know, knowing them also to be the cruellest of all the savages that infest our frontier. To say nothing of the glory gained in conquering them, ’twill be doing humanity a service to destroy them; and never more than now has there been reason.
“This gentleman,” – he points to the newly-arrived messenger, still on horseback and near by – “has brought news of a bloodthirsty massacre they have just committed at Nacomori, on the Horcasitas, where women, scores, have been carried off. Like enough they’re all over yonder now, and we may be in time to release these prisoners, and avenge the murders that have been done. The only fear is of the Indians getting away from us. Mounted on their swift mustangs, and leaving all encumbrances behind, that is still possible enough. But to prevent it, I intend dividing my force, and sending detachments around to intercept and cut off their retreat on every route they may take. We must deal them a death-blow, and I now call on you – every man to do his best. Remember how many of our people, perhaps many of your own relatives, have fallen victims to the ferocity of these ruthless marauders. Think of the crime we have just heard of at Nacomori. Think of it, camarados, and strike home!”
An enthusiastic cheer hails the Colonel’s speech; and while it is still ringing commands are issued for the disposition of the advance – the movement soon after commencing.
Chapter Thirty Two.
Succour in Sight
Not an hour of daylight now passes, scarce a minute, without Don Estevan Villanueva or Robert Tresillian having the telescope to their eyes, scanning the plain southward. For days this has been their practice, up to that on which the red marauders are seen returning from their murderous expedition.
And on the following morning at earliest dawn the two – Pedro Vicente along with them – take their stand on an outward projection of the mesa, which commands a view of the llano all round its southern side, at the same time overlooking the Coyotero camp.
They have not been long there when, under the first rays of the rising sun, they see something sparkle which had never been observed by them before, though in a place with which they are familiar – the same where they first sighted the Cerro Perdido. Nor is the glancing object a single one, for there are many shining points as stars in a constellation. They are visible to the naked eye, for as yet none of them have looked through the telescope. As Don Estevan is levelling it, the gambusino says:
“Looks like the glitter of arms and accoutrements. Pray the Virgin it be that!”
“It is that!” cries Don Estevan, at the first glance through the glass. “Arms, and in the hands of men. I can make out a body of horse in uniform – soldiers. Requeñes and his regiment; he to a certainty. At length – at last – we may hope to be rescued, and our long imprisonment brought to an end.”
His words, spoken excitedly and aloud, attract those who are sauntering near, and soon most upon the mesa come clustering round him. To see with eyes unaided that metallic sheen, as they eagerly hearken to its interpretation. Don Estevan, with the telescope still held aloft, goes on speaking:
“Yes; ’tis they! I can see they carry lances, by the sun glinting on the blades above their heads. They can be no other than the Zacatecas regiment, with my brother-in-law at its head. Your son, Tresillian, is safe; their being yonder tells of his having reached Arispe. Brave youth! we all owe him our blessing.”
“And we give him that, with our gratitude!” shouts Pedro Vicente, the others enthusiastically echoing his words.
There is a momentary lull, all ears intently listening for what Don Estevan may next say; which is:
“They appear to be extending line, and look as if there were a good six or seven hundred. Ah! now I note there are others besides the lancers – a battery of brass guns – that’s what’s flashing back the sun. And a body of horsemen, not in uniform. They seem to be at halt. Why and for what?”
“Like enough,” suggests Tresillian, “they’ve made out our flag telling them we are still here. Requeñes, with others of his officers, will have telescopes too, and must see it, as also that smoke over the camp below. It will tell them our besiegers are there also. That would cause them to halt – to concert measures for the attack.”
“You’re right, Don Roberto, it must be as you say. But now there’s a movement among them. The mass is breaking up into detachments, some commencing to march to the right, others to the left. Ah! I see it all: they mean making a surround, cutting off the retreat of our enemy. Caramba! Requeñes is a cunning strategist, as I always believed him.”
With the glass still at his eye, the old soldier can see every movement made, comprehending all, and explaining them in succession to the audience around him. A party of lancers, seemingly a squadron, separating from the main body, moves off to the right, another party of like strength proceeding in the opposite direction. Then other detachments follow these, as if to form an enfilading line when the time comes for it. But the central force remains stationary long after the flanking parties have been extended, and is only seen to advance when they are far away. These make wide circuit, evidently designed to embrace the Coyoteros’ camp, and, if need be, the Cerro itself.
And now they draw nearer till all upon the mesa, without any artificial aid, can see they are men, and as such surely friends hastening to their rescue.
To their joy they also perceive that the occupants of the Indian camp are as yet unaware of what is approaching. Five hundred feet below, their view is more limited; and long before the soldiers become visible to them, they above see the latter distinctly, and understand their strategic scheme.
Meanwhile the savages are not acting in the ordinary way: signs of commotion are observable among them, as if some change were intended. Horses are being caught and caparisoned, while the newly acquired animals from the Horcasitas are again loaded with the spoils, those that carried the captives being also made ready for the road.
The women are themselves seen within the corral; as on the evening before, looking forlorn, every one of them a picture of despair. They are to be taken they know not whither, but to a place from which they have no hope of return. Little dream they that friends are so near.
“What a pity we can’t let them know of rescue being at hand!” says Don Estevan. “They could hear us if we call to them, but some of the Coyoteros are acquainted with our language, and it would warn them also.”
“No fear of that,” affirms the gambusino; “I think I can speak a tongue that the redskins won’t understand, and the women will.”
“What tongue?” asks Don Estevan.
“The Opata. Some of those girls are mestizas, and should know the lingo of their mothers.”
“Try them with it, then, Don Pedro.”
“With your worship’s leave, I will.”
Saying which, the gambusino advances to the outermost edge of the cliff, and, with all the strength of his lungs, utters some words altogether unintelligible to those around him, but evidently understood by the captives below.
Several of them on hearing it spring suddenly to their feet, looking up in the direction whence it came, surprised to see men above, hitherto unobserved by them, and still more to hear speech addressed to themselves. Hope and joy become mingled with their astonishment, when the gambusino goes on in the same vernacular to tell them how it is, and that succour is near.
Though listening all the while, not one of the Apaches appears to comprehend a word of what Vicente is saying. They suppose it a mere expression of sympathy; and, without giving heed to it, proceed with their preparations for departure. They are evidently bent upon this, though it may be but the raiders about to continue on to their home in Apacheria. Still, other signs seem to indicate a general clearing out of the camp; for now the whole caballada of horses are being brought in saddled and bridled, while everything portable in the way of goods is turned out within the corral, packed as if for transportation.
And in reality it is their intention to abandon both camp and siege, though reluctantly, and hating to surrender a chance of revenge that had seemed so sure and near. But they have had enough to content them for the time, and there is a fear which forces them to forego it. Ever since Henry Tresillian escaped them they have been nervously apprehensive, correctly surmising him a messenger. He must long since have reached Arispe, and may at any moment reappear, guiding back a force sufficient to overwhelm them.
While yet unrecovered from their night’s carousal, it is as the fulfilment of a dream, their worst apprehensions realised, as they behold coming towards them, though still far off, a body of men, uniformed and in serried array, with pennoned lances borne aloft!
The sight is not so much a surprise, neither does it produce a panic; for they who approach seem not in such numbers as to overawe them. The detached parties sent around are not within their view, and with their habitual contempt for the Mexican soldados, they make light of those that are, imagining them under a mistake – advancing upon an enemy whose strength they have underrated.
The error is their own; but, misled by it, they resolve to ride out, meet the pale-faced foemen, and anticipate their attack. Their chief so commands it.
Quick as thought every warrior is upon his horse, gun or spear in hand; they, too, in military formation – line of battle – pressing forward to the encounter, the sentries alone left on post.