CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A RETRIBUTIVE SHOT.
It is midnight, and darkness over mountain and plain; pitch darkness,although there is a moon in the sky. But she is not visible, obscuredby a bank of thick cumulus clouds, that have rolled up from theCalifornian Gulf--portent of an approaching rain-storm.
The savages have gone to rest; or, at all events, brought their noisyrevelry to an end, and silence reigns everywhere around, save now andthen a snort from a miner's horse, or mule, with a stamp of hoof, uneasyin their new companionship; the half howl, half bark of prowling coyote,and the wailing of chuck-will's widow--the nightjar of Sonora--hawkingfor insects high over the lake. But no sound of human voice is heard,nor through the inky blackness can be seen form of man.
Yet not all are asleep, either above or below. On the plain is a lineof sentries, set at distances apart on the outer edge of the triangularspace where the path goes up; and inside this, by the bottom of thegorge itself, two other men, though not on sentinel duty.
All Indians, of course; one of the pair by themselves being El Cascabel,the other a sub-chief, his second in command. They are there onreconnoitring purposes, to discover whether it be possible for thebesiegers to make the ascent on a dark night unseen, and so take thebesieged by surprise.
Since settling down in camp the Rattlesnake has reflected, and a thoughtis now in his mind making him uneasy. Not regret for having to foregohis raid on the settlements of the Horcasitas. Unlikely that the siegewould take up any more time, and the booty alone should be amplecompensation. For he has made study of the abandoned camp, found everyindication of wealth, and feels sure it late held rich treasures. Theywould reward him for the time lost in beleaguering. And as to therevenge, a whole company of miners--nigh a hundred at least--with theirwives and daughters, grand senoras among them too--death to the men, andcaptivity to the women--that should satisfy the keenest vengeance.
And perhaps it would his, were he sure of accomplishing it. He wasbefore the sun went down, but is not now. For, since, he has thought ofthat which had not then occurred to him or to any of his following.Might not the miners have sent off a courier back to their own country,with a demand for help? If so, it would surely come; in strengthsufficient, and soon enough to raise the siege. For the head men of thebesieging force now know it will be a prolonged one. The fragments ofprovisions found in the wagons tell of a good store taken out of themand up. Game is there in abundance to supplement it, and waternever-failing--a fortress in every way supplied. Not so strange, then,the Coyotero chief being nervous at the thought of a courier having beendispatched. For one might, without having been seen by him or his. Along distance it was from where they themselves must have been firstsighted by those on the mountain.
But for the obscurity, there are those on it who would see himself andhis second now. By the head of the gorge above a party of miners keepguard. They have just come on duty, the relief after a spell of sleep.For Don Estevan, by old experience, knowing there was no clanger ofIndian attack in the earlier hours, had entrusted the guard-keeping ofthese to the more common men. Between midnight and morning is the timeto "'ware redskin," and the guard of this period, now commenced, hasbeen confided to a picked party, two of those composing it being PedroVicente and his _fidus achates_, Henry Tresillian.
Guard it can scarce be called, being only a small vidette-picket. Forthere is little fear--scarce a thought--that the Indians will attemptthe ascent, at least not so soon, or without gravely reflecting upon it.
"Perhaps never at all," says the _gambusino_, in confabulation with hisfellow-watchers. "And why should they? They must be well aware of thechances against them. Besides, having got us as fish in a net, they'renot likely to leap into the water themselves, where they know there are_tiburones_ (sharks)."
Vicente has had a spell at pearl-diving in the Gulf, hence his similedrawn from the sea.
"Ay, _tintoreros_--these," he adds, specifying the most dreaded of thesqualine tribe, with hand caressingly rested on one of the large stonesalongside which he is lying. "I only wish they would try it, theRattlesnake leading. 'Twould give me just the opportunity I want to paythat artist off for the bit of bad engraving--he did on my breast--byhurling one of these beauties at his head. _Malraya_! I may never havethe chance to settle that score--not likely now."
The final words, uttered in a tone of angry disappointed vengeance, arefollowed by an interval of silence. For the new videttes, having justentered on their duty, deem it wise, before aught else, to makethemselves acquainted with how matters are below. They are all inrecumbent attitude, _ventre a terre_, behind the parapet of loosestones. For having witnessed that long-range practice with the "QueenAnnes," it occurs to them that a big bullet may at any moment comewhizzing up the gorge, and just as well be out of its way. So elevatingbut their eyes over, they look cautiously down. To see nothing--noteven the plain, nor yet the lake; to hear nothing which proceeds fromhuman kind; but they know the savages are on the alert, with sentriesaligned below, and for a time continue to listen.
At length, satisfied there is nothing which calls for their vigilancebeing kept on the strain, Vicente draws out his _cajoncito_ of corn-husk_cigarittos_, lights one, and sets to smoking. His comrades of thewatch do likewise; and the English youth, long since initiated into theways of the country, smokes too, only his weed is a Havannah.
Not many minutes are they thus occupied when the _gambusino_, chancingto turn his eyes south-westward, sees what makes him spit the_cigaritto_ from his mouth, and gaze intently. The object is up in thesky; a slight rift just opened in the bank of cloud, edgedyellowish-white. The moon must be near it--_is_ near it, and now in it!for while they are still regarding the blue spot, she shoots suddenlyout from the black, as arrow from bow.
Instantly night's darkness is turned into light as of day; every objecton the _llano_, even the smallest, made visible for miles upon miles, upto the horizon's verge. But their eyes go not so far, least of allthose of Pedro Vicente, who at the first flash from the unveiled mooncatches sight of that which arrests his straying glances, fixing themfast. Not the line of sentries, though he sees them too; but a pair offigures inside and closer, up nigh the point where the path steps uponthe plain. One of them, recognised, rivets his gaze by a token ofidentification unmistakable--a death's head in white chalk, which, withthe moon full upon it, gleams conspicuous against a background ofbronze.
"_Carria_! El Cascabel!" he mechanically mutters, in tone ofexultation; and without saying another word, or waiting another second,brings his rifle to shoulder, the stock to his cheek, with muzzle deepdepressed.
A blaze--a crack--and the bullet is sped. A cry of agony from below--another of anger in voice different--proclaims its course true, and thatthe mark aimed at has been hit.
He who fired the shot knows that, by sight as well as sound. For hesees--all see--a man reeling, staggering, about to fall, and anotherwith arms outstretched, as if partly in surprise, partly with intent tosupport him.
Only for an instant is the spectacle under their eyes. For suddenly asshe showed herself, the moon disappears with a plunge into the opaqueclouds, leaving all dark as before.