CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
NOT LOST YET.
In the great desert land of Apacheria there are Coyoteros and Coyoteros;some, abject miserable creatures among the lowest forms of humanity;others, men of fine port, courage, and strength--true Indian warriors.Of these is the band of El Cascabel, noted for its frequent hostileexpeditions to the settlements of Sonora, as that on which it was bentwhen brought up by the Lost Mountain. So unexpectedly deprived of itschief, will it continue on that expedition? or lay siege to the party oftravelling miners as he intended doing? A question asked the minersthemselves of one another, but not after witnessing the scalp-dance.Then knew they for sure that the siege was to be carried out. Asfurther evidence of it, that very afternoon the mules and horses of thecaravan are collected into droves, tied head to tail, and conducted awayfrom the ground altogether by a number of Indians placed in charge ofthem--evidently that there should not be too many mouths on the pasturesaround the camp, which, though good, are but of limited extent. Onlysome of the inferior animals, with the beeves, are allowed to remain asprovision for the besiegers.
The miners above have meanwhile been busy getting matters regulated intheir new camp, or bivouac, soon as convinced that the enemy did notintend assault. All repair thither, only a limited number of videtteskeeping post by the gorge. Around the _ojo de agua_ is witnessed ascene of curious interest. To the two tents set up on the day beforeare being added sheds and arbour-like huts, with such haste that erenight all are completed, for the cloud of the night before, portendingrain, still covers the western sky, though not a drop has yet fallen.
Just as the last of daylight glimmers over the plain a very drown anddownpour, as if to make up for its long absence. The sky is all cloudednow, but with clouds at short intervals riven by forking spears oflightning, while the accompanying thunder is almost continuous.
Under the yellow light the lake glistens as if it was molten gold, whilethe rebound upwards from the heavy drops shows something like a goldenspray hanging all over it. On beyond the out-going stream, late but atiny rivulet, has changed to a foaming torrent, madly breaking its wayacross the plain; while the in-going rill from the _messas_ summit hasbecome a series of cascades and cataracts.
The Indians, fearing a stampede by their horses, draw them in from theirpicket-pins, hobble, and make them fast round the wheels of the wagons,but they are still more solicitous about the fine _caballada_ capturedand sent away; for nearly every one of these, with all the mules, has apack saddle on its back with the distributed dry goods, and otherdesirable articles not taken up the _messa_. In short, if that packdrove be lost, they may not have much to reward them for the season'sraid. They might have sent the wagons along, but aware of the use towhich these are often put by the palefaces, as sleeping-tents, arenoting the approach of the storm, and determine to utilise them insimilar fashion. That night at least they would need them, and it mightbe many more.
So, as the rain falls, lightning flashes, and thunder rolls, there is aclose-packed crowd under the tilt of each, with the big tent full to itsentrance-flap; and still there is not space enough to shield all fromthat torrent of the sky, a large number retreating under ledges of thecliffs that overhang near by.
The miners are all under shelter; they, too, sure of the approachingstorm, having worked hard during the later hours of the day. The_messa_ gave them material for wall and roof. Posts from the indigenoustrees with scantling poles cut from saplings of many kinds, and a thatchof _cycas_ and other grasslike plants, which abounded on the summit.Men accustomed as they to handling ropes and gearing, were not long inrunning up a house sufficient for shelter, and now every such domicileis filled to its door-jambs; men, women, and children mingled together,some standing, some seated on the bundles of goods that, but for theirbeing inside, would have been lost. They had thought of that too.
Up to a certain hour the people of quality are all inside one tent,which shows bright from a light burning inside it: their conversationis, of course, about the circumstances which surround them. Who, then,could talk of any other? Don Estevan believes that the killing of theRattlesnake may be a disadvantage to them rather than otherwise, makingthe vengeance of his followers more implacable than at least it shoulddo. But he has yet another reason for so believing. In his ownmilitary expeditions he had become acquainted with El Cascabel's secondin command, a sub-chief, equalling the others in hostility to thewhites, while far excelling him in ability.
But it is too soon yet to discuss such chances. Rest was the one thingneeded; and at the usual hour for retiring, all, save those detailed forpicket-guard, seek repose.
Just as on the previous night the less experienced stand the firstwatches of the night, keeping the rain off with waterproof _serapes_;only at intervals need they look down, and then, unlike as on the nightbefore, everything is seen as under a meridian sun, for it is while thelightning gleams they make their intermittent examination of the gorgepath, cascading stream, trees, and rocks illuminated by it as by athousand torches; only towards morning do their blazes become lessfrequent, gradually dying out as the rain ceases to fall. HenryTresillian is again on watch duty, having insisted upon it,notwithstanding the opposition made by the others of his party. But hehas a reason they do not understand--indeed, he has not communicated itto them; during the earlier hours of the night he fancied havingobserved a dark object far off on the plain, seemingly in the shape of ahorse; but returning several times to look, afterwards he could not seeit again. Now, on the post midnight watch, at each blaze he runs hiseye around the spot where he fancied the dark object to have been, onlyin the very last one to see it again, and make sure it was a horse; buthis ears tell him more than his eyes, for in the dark spell succeedingthe silence of the elements restored he several times hears a neigh,which he recognises as that of his own horse, Crusader.
And when the day at length dawns he sees the noble animal itself only ashort distance beyond the lower end of the lake, with head upraised andmuzzle pointed up the gorge, as though in a morning salute to himself,