The Lost Mountain Part 10

This, from Pedro Vicente in his old spirit, as he points to the line of savages far extended.

The files have by this faced westward, but are advancing towards the stream; now, on nearing it, they are seen to stop abruptly as if in surprise. Then, after an instant, all wheel round and ride back eastward, till getting on their old line, they return at a gallop towards their camp. They have discovered the stream to be impa.s.sable.

"That horse is the _demonio_ himself," says Pedro Vicente--"neither more nor less. He must have known they could not cross the swollen streamlet, or he'd never have stopped by it as he has done. But they've not given him up yet. No! see: they're going round by the head of the lake."

Just this they intend, as is seen by their advancing towards the point where the lake commences by the mouth of the ravine. They have no difficulty in crossing its in-going stream, a few minutes after the rain ceased having reduced this to its normal condition of a tiny rivulet.

And like some dark, disagreeable vision Henry Tresillian sees pa.s.s before his eyes the savage cohort, file after file, one disappearing after another, till at length no animated form is observable on the plain below, save that their eyes have been hitherto regarding with interest.

There is a long interval without event; nearly an hour elapses ere Crusader shows any sign, his head almost continuously to the gra.s.s, raised only occasionally, as he changes place upon it. All this time the Indians are out of sight, with no sound coming from the direction they had taken.

But at length there is a sound, a startled neigh from the black horse, who, tossing his crest in air, rears upward with a curving sweep, and then darts straight away, as if in flight from an advancing enemy--the enemy seen instantly afterwards as several mounted men disclose themselves from the western framework of rock, all in a tail-on-end gallop.

Crusader has taken along the edge of the stream, and follows it in parallel direction downwards, just as he fled before from the same pursuers. There would seem no chance of their overtaking him now; for he appears to gain distance at every bound, without even straining himself. But lo! what is that?

"_Santos Dios_! They've headed him. _Milraya_! what a pity!"

It is the _gambusino_ who thus exclaims, seeing other hors.e.m.e.n on the plain farther points on, all facing towards the stream, evidently to intercept the chased steed.

Crusader sees them too, for he is now close up to them; but forsaking the course he has. .h.i.therto followed, he makes an abrupt turn and breaks off westward, continuing this direction in full gallop, till the rocks hide him from view.

Alike the pursuers thrown round, pa.s.s out of sight one after another, and again that part of the _llano_ resumes its wonted aspect of stern, savage tranquillity.

For most of those composing the party of spectators the chase had no particular interest, and only a few of them were gathered around the point where it could be viewed. Indeed, but a few heard of Crusader being seen, the greater and more serious event obscuring that of lesser note. And now these few, one after the other, again go back to _ojo de agua_, to take part in the duties of the day.

But the English youth still stays by the vidette post, with eye constantly directed on the plain below, and ears listening intently, to catch any sound that may come from the western side; apprehensively, too, for he fears to hear shots.

The savages failing to catch the black horse with their laryettes, may spitefully endeavour to bring him down with their guns. This, indeed, is the real clanger his young master has been dreading, and which for the time engrosses all his thoughts.

Luckily not for long. Within less than an hour the dusky hors.e.m.e.n, in twos and threes, come straggling back across the open ground between the lake's head and their camp, so continuing till the last of them have returned, all with discomfited air, but none with Crusader as their captive. And as no report of gun has been heard, it is more than probable he has once more eluded them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

LIFE ON THE LOST MOUNTAIN.

The exciting events above recorded, as occurring in quick succession, are followed by a period of repose lasting for days. Alike reigns it on the mountain summit and around its base; in the camp of the besieged as of the besiegers.

Withal, in the latter there is no lack of activity; parties go and come at all hours, but more especially during those of the night. Scouts sent out; it may be for many purposes. But one large detail is observed on a certain day to make the complete round of the mountain, every here and there halting with front towards it, as if for minute examination of its cliffs from base to summit; evidently to be satisfied whether there be any possible chance for the white men to reach the plain otherwise than down that chine cut by the watercourse.

While making this _reconnaissance_ they have been narrowly watched by eyes from above, and as no particular point has been observed to attract their attention, it is concluded that they deem their pale-faced prisoners quite secure, only calling for a little patience ere they may evidently lay hands on them.

The same movement also gives a.s.surance to their intended victims, but of a kind not so satisfactory. It tells them how determined their enemy is, how retentive his grasp, and implacable his vengeance. All this with no increased hope on their part of being able to escape him.

Thought of how has not yet taken shape in their minds. How could it?

So many present facts and fears engrossing them, they have found little time to reflect on the future.

And a new fear has now arisen which calls for steps to be taken. There may be other grizzly bears on the _mesa_, and if so these monsters will be prowling around the camp to a.s.sail it at any instant. Better they be met outside at a distance off, there attacked, and if possible exterminated.

This conclusion come to, Don Estevan gives orders for all to arm, and a general _battue_ is made over the summit of the Cerro. Paths are hacked through the underwood everywhere, laying open many a spot never before trodden by foot of man. Strange birds are flushed from their nests, and strange animals are seen stealing away through the thick tangle of _llianas_, chiefly of the reptilian order, as armadillos, lizards, the curious horned frog (_Agama cornuta_), and serpents--most numerous of all that whose retreat is marked by the defiant rattle which has given it its name. Scores of _cascabeles_ are started out of the dead leaves and branches, their vibratory "skirr" resounding everywhere.

But quadrupeds turn up as well. At intervals the crack of gun tells of one shot at, whether killed or no. Now a wild sheep, now a p.r.o.ng-horn antelope, or it may be but a hare or rabbit. The great wolf is also found there, and his lesser and more cowardly congener, the coyote; but no more bears--grizzly or other--nor sign of them. Evidently the two killed at the camp were the sole monarchs of the mountain.

The day's hunt, for it occupied a whole day, gives satisfaction in more ways than one. First, by doing away with all apprehension of danger from _Ursus ferox_; secondly, by affording a plentiful supply of present food; and, thirdly, in there being still more on the mountain, giving proof of the abundance of them.

Nor is the vegetable element lacking, but present in all its varieties of root, fruit, and berry. The _mezcal_, whose baked stem forms staple food for their enemies, grows on the _mesa_. Its use is known to the _gambusino_, as others of the miners. Several sorts of _mezquite_ trees are found there, whose long pendulous _siliques_ contain seeds which can be ground into a meal making nutritious bread, while the cones of the edible pine (_Pinus edulis_)--"_pinon-nuts_" as called--are in quant.i.ty all around. For fruit there are several varieties of the cactus, with that of pear-shape, and all the rich juiciness of a pear, the famed _pitathaya_. In short, the Cerro Perdido is a very oasis, its cornucopia peculiar to the desert. With so bountiful a supply of provisions the besieged need not fear famine, at least for a long time.

Their resources, carefully husbanded, may last for weeks.

And on time rests their only hope; their sole chance of being rescued depending on that, by some means or other, their situation may become known to their friends at Arispe, or their countrymen elsewhere.

But what likelihood of this? As already stated, the Lost Mountain is out of the line of all travel and traffic. Months, a year, nay, years may elapse ere a wayfarer of any kind stray to it, or near it. So their chances of being seen there by friendly eyes, to say naught of their position being understood, are as those of castaways on a desert isle in mid-ocean.

And as shipwrecked men they hoist signals of distress. Any one approaching that solitary eminence from the south might wonder to see a flag floating from a tall staff over its southern end, giving it all the greater resemblance to a fortress with banner waving above. A tricolour flag, bearing the symbolic badge of the Mexican Republic--the Eagle upon the Nopal! It is that Don Estevan had meant to have erected over the new mine, now little likely ever to be displayed there. For now it is unfolded to tell a tale of threatening disaster, and attract the eyes of those who may do something to avert it.

But for this dark uncertainty of future there is nothing irksome, not even disagreeable, in their present life. On the contrary, it might be even called pleasant; plenty to eat, plenty to drink, sufficient freedom of range, a sapphire sky above, with an atmosphere around them whose heat is tempered by breezes ever blowing, ever laden with the fragrance of fruit and flower.

And no scene of sombre gloomy silence; instead, one enlivened by the notes of many wild warblers, both diurnal and nocturnal. By day the jarring yet cheering cry of the blue jay and the red cardinal; the mewing of the catbird, or the "hew-hew" of hawk in pursuit of his victim. By night, the more melodious, all incomparable song of the _czentzontle_--mockingbird of Mexico--oft intermingled with another song, but little less powerful or sweet, that of the _cuitlacoche_--a second species of New World nightingale, not so well known.

Life in the odd aerial camp now settles down into a sort of routine, each day having its separate calls and duties. The watch is, of course, kept up, and with no falling off in its vigilance. For although the besiegers have not again shown any sign of an intention to try the a.s.sault, who knows what may be in the mind of these subtle savages?

Only at night need there be any fear, and only when it is darkest. At other times the vidette duty is a matter of easy fulfilment.

In truth the miners might almost fancy themselves in picnic, having a happy time of it, halfway between earth and heaven. But they are not there by choice, too well knowing its stern necessity. And this, with the dark doubtful future, robs them of all zest for enjoyment. So the hours pa.s.s not merrily, but wearily.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

WHO TO BE THE FORLORN HOPE?

Day succeeds day with no brightening of hopes to those beleaguered on the Lost Mountain. Instead, in each something arises to make their prospects darker, if that were possible.

About ten days after the commencement of the siege the besiegers have their force increased, a fresh party coming down from the north, evidently in obedience to a summons, which they who drove off the captured _caballada_ have carried back. But for what purpose this accession of strength, when it is not needed? They on the ground are already enough, and to spare.

The miners cannot guess what they have come about, unless it be the remaining braves of the tribe, to take part in some ceremony over their fallen chief, or be present when the time arrives for the wreaking of vengeance.

It has nothing to do with that, however, solely a conception of their new leader, El Zopilote, who has his reasons for carrying out the raid down the Horcasitas. So on the second day after, the besieging party, instead of being one hundred men the more, is all that the less; at least two hundred seen to issue forth from the camp, and proceed southward in full war-paint and panoply, with all their frightful insignia. As successive files they move off along the stream's edge, it might seem as some gigantic serpent commencing its crawl towards prey.

And many on the mountain, with a suspicion of where they are going, have a pitying heart for those who live on the banks of the lower Horcasitas.

Enough, however, to think of themselves, and each hour more than enough; for as the days pa.s.s circ.u.mstances present a still sterner front. The supply of provisions, at first seeming inexhaustible, proves to have a limit. There are over seventy mouths to feed, which calls for a large daily quant.i.ty. So one by one the wild quadrupeds give out, the birds long before these, frightened by the constant chase and fusillade, forsaking the place altogether. The store of _tasajo_ and other preserved meats begins to be drawn upon. When these come to an end, so too must all the suspense, all the agonies of that quaint, quasi imprisonment, to terminate in real captivity, or indeed death itself.

In the tent of Don Estevan some seven or eight of the mining people are a.s.sembled; the two _duenos_ are of course present, with the _mayor-domo_, the chief engineer, and other heads of departments. No need to say the _gambusino_ is among them. They are there to take counsel on the events of the day, and the means of the morrow. Every night it has been their custom to do so, and on this one--for it is at night--there is nothing very different to speak of from any other.

Still, Don Estevan has conceived a thought which had not hitherto occurred to him, and now lays it before the a.s.sembled conclave.

"_Caballeros_! I can think of only one way--poor, doubtful chance it is--by which we may get rescued. Some one must contrive to pa.s.s their sentries."

"Impossible!" is the thought of all hearing him, one or two expressing it in speech. For of all the things observed as vigorously kept up, never relaxed for an hour--even a moment--has been that sentinel line thrown across the plain from flank to flank of the ravine. All day long it has appeared there, and all through the night evidently redoubled.