CHAPTER TEN.
AN ENFILADING LINE.
The "stone artillery" has been got together; a huge pile of it, formingat the same time protecting parapet and battery of guns; the men havedesisted from their work, and having nothing more to do, at least for atime, stand listening for the signals. They know that such have beenarranged, 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 adouble-barrelled gun.
"The Indians coming on, and near!" says Don Estevan, interpreting tothose around. "We may look to see them soon yonder."
He nods towards the abandoned camp, a portion of which is visible fromthe head of the gorge.
This causes a turning of all eyes in its direction, and on the _llano_beyond. But scarce have they commenced scanning it when two othershots, less loud but with a like interval between, reach their ears,proceeding from the same quarter.
"The pistols--signals three and four!" mechanically pronounces theex-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 thetowns 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 thelips of the _gambusino_, who, returning in breathless haste, cries outere he is up to them,
"_Los Coyoteros_! The band of El Cascabel!"
Words of terrible portent, needing no explanation, for they recall tothe minds of all present that sanguinary incident already alluded to.The dastardly deed of Captain Perez and his ruffianly soldiery is likelyto be retaliated on men, not only themselves guiltless, but every one ofwhom has condemned it! For how can they expect mercy from the friendsand relatives of his murdered victims? How hope for any distinction orexception in their favour? They cannot, and do not, knowing that eversince that inhuman massacre the Apaches have treated every paleface as afoe, 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 the _gambusino's_ briefbut expressive report.
"Think! I'm sure of it, your worship. Through this good glass of yoursI recognised that savage himself, knowing him too well. It enabled meto make out his _totem_, the pretty device on his breast, of which thison 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 whathe had already shown to Henry Tresillian. As most of them rememberhaving heard of the sepulchral symbol borne by the Coyotero chief, withthat other more appropriate to his name, they now know the sort of enemythat is approaching, and what they have to expect. No more among themis 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 thatconfidence due to danger seeming still distant. They know they are safefor the time, unassailable, the _gambusino_ having given them assuranceof it. But they now see it for themselves, and any apprehensions theyhave are less for the present than the future. Sure are they that asiege is before them, how long they cannot guess, nor in which way itwill terminate. And there may be chances of relief or escape they havenot thought of. Hope is hard to kill, and the least hopeful of them hasnot yet yielded to despair. Time enough for that when starvation staresthem 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 theenemy of which their guide has given such awe-inspiring account; and,with glances sent abroad and over that portion of the plain visible tothem, they await his appearance on it.
Nearly another hour elapses without any enemy seen. The horses andmules have got over their late excitement, and are again tranquillydepasturing, some having waded into the lake to cool their hoofs, stillhot after their long _jornada_. But none wander away from the proximityof the camp; the only animals out on the plain being prong-hornantelopes, a herd of which, on their way to the water too, has beendeterred approaching it by the presence of huge monsters unknown tothem--the wagons. But these have not hindered the approach of theblack-winged birds; instead, attracted them, and a large flock is nowaround the abandoned camp, some wheeling above, others at rest on theground 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 theanimals, birds as quadrupeds, the wild as the tame. The prong-hornswith a snort raise their heads aloft as if they saw or scented some newdanger, then lope off at lightning speed. The vultures take wing, butonly rise a little way into the air, to soar round in circles; while thehorses, mules, and horned cattle, as if seized by a frenzy of madness,rush excitedly about, wildly neighing and bellowing, at each instantthreatening to break away in stampede.
"They smell redskin," knowingly observes the _gambusino_, who is amongthe rest watching their movements. "Yes; and we'll soon see the uglything itself. _Chingara_! yonder it is."
He has no need to point out either the thing or the place. The eyes ofall are now on it; the head of a dusky cohort just appearing round theeastern projection of the Cerro, becoming elongated as file after fileunfolds itself. They are still afar off--at least a league--nor istheir line of march directed towards the mountain, but westward, asthough they intended turning it.
No such manoeuvre is meant, however, as the miners, forewarned by theirguide, are already aware. His words are made good by their seeing soonafter another dark line developing itself on the _llano_, at a likedistance off, but coming from the opposite direction.
"The party that went west about," says the _gambusino_, half insoliloquy; "cunning in them to make a complete surround of us. Isuppose 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. Theportion of the plain visible is sextant-shaped--the view on either sidecut off by the flanking ridges of the ravine--and from each side thestring of savage horsemen is continuously lengthening out. Not rapidly,but in slow leisurely crawl, as if confident they had already securedthe enfiladement of the camp. With a thicker concentration near thehead of each, and a metallic sparkle all along their line--the sheen oftheir armour under the rays of the meridian sun--they appear as two hugeserpents of antediluvian age, deliberately drawing towards one anothereither for friendship or combat.
In due time their front files come together, near the central part ofthe sextant; though the rear ones are still invisible;--how many ofthese no one knows, save approximately. Enough, however, are already insight to make a formidable array, and put all thought of conflict withthem out of the question. The miners but congratulate themselves ontheir fortune in finding that secure place of retreat, which will enablethem 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 theynow are, the hours of their life would be numbered--perhaps to countonly minutes. At the best they could but save bare life for a time, butnothing to comfort or sustain it.
All this they have come to comprehend thoroughly as they continue towatch the movements of the Coyoteros, and see the cordon these havedrawn around them. But for some minutes there is no movement at all,the bands after uniting having come to a halt, the files makingquarter-wheel, so as to face the Cerro--all done as by trained cavalryon a parade-groun
d! And for a while they stay halted, the change offront giving their alignment a thinner look. But at the central pointis a thicker clump, without military formation, on which Don Estevandirects his telescope. To see half a dozen of the mounted savages faceto face with one another, earnestly, excitedly gesticulating. After alook through it, he tenders the glass to the _gambusino_, who may betterunderstand 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 wagonswhere never were such before. Like as not they think we're _soldados_,and that makes them cautious. But they'll soon know different. _PorDios_! they know it now. They're coming on!"