CHAPTER TWENTY.
A FATAL FAILURE.
It is a day of anxious solicitude. If the night turn out a dark one,the messengers whom fate has chosen for the perilous enterprise are toset out on their errand. They know it is to be a moonless one, but forall, in the diaphanous atmosphere of that upland plateau, it may be tooclear to make the passing of the Indian sentinels at all possible.
The afternoon begets hope: a bank of heavy clouds is seen rising alongthe western sky, which, rolling higher and higher, brings on a downpourof rain. It is of short continuance, however--over before sunset, theclouds again dispersing. Then the darkness comes down, but for a longtime only in a glimmering of grey, the stars in grand sheen making italmost as clear if there was moonlight.
The sentinels can be seen in their old places like a row of dark stakes,conspicuous against the green turf on which they are stationed. Theyare at short distances apart, and every now and then forms are observedmoving from one to the other, as if to keep them continuously on thealert.
So thus, nigh up to the hour of midnight, and the miners begin todespair of their messengers being able to pass out--at least, on thisnight.
But soon, to their satisfaction, something shows itself promising adifferent result. The surface of the lake has suddenly turned white, asif under a covering of snow. It is fog. Through the heated atmospherethe lately-fallen rain is rising in vapour, and within its misty shroudit envelopes not only the lake, but the plain around its edges. Itrolls over the line of savage watchers, on up between the jaws of thechine, till in its damp clammy film it embraces the bodies of those whoare waiting above.
"Now's your time, _muchachos_!" says Don Estevan, addressing himself tothose who are to adventure. "There could not be a better opportunity;if they can't be passed now, they never can."
The two men are there ready, and equipped for the undertaking. Youngfellows both, with a brave look, and no sign of quailing or desire toback out. Each carries a small wallet of provisions strapped to hisperson, with a pistol in his belt, but no other arms or accoutrements toencumber them. In subtleness and activity, more than mere physicalforce, lie their chances of success.
A shaking of hands with such of their old comrades as are near,farewells exchanged when they pass over the parapet of loose stones tocommence the descent, with many a "_va con Dios_!" sent after them inaccents of earnest prayerfulness. Then follows an interregnum ofprofound silence, during which time they at the ravine's head listenwith keenest anxiety.
After a few seconds a slight rustling below tells that one of the twohas made a slip, or pushed a stone out of place; but nothing comes ofit. Then a horse neighs in the distant camp, and soon after another,neither of them having any significance. No more the screaming ofwild-fowl at the lower end of the lake, nor the querulous cry of"chuck-will's widow," hawking high over it. None of these sounds haveany portent as to the affair in hand, and they, listening, begin to hopethat it has succeeded--for surely there has been time for the two men tohave got beyond the guarded line?
Hope premature, alas! to be disappointed. Up out of the mist comes thesound of voices, as if in hail, followed by dubious response, and quicksucceeding a struggle with shots. Then a cry or two as in agony, ashout of triumph, and all silent as before.
For the rest of the night they on the _mesa_ sleep not. Too surely hastheir scheme failed, and their messengers fallen victims to it. If theywere any doubts about this, these are set at rest at an early hour ofthe morning.
Sad evidence they have to convince them. On the spot where thescalp-dance had taken place a red pole is again erected, as the otherornamented with the skins of human heads. But not now to be dancedaround; though for a time they, looking from above, think there is to bea repetition of that savage ceremony. Soon they are undeceived, andknow it to be a spectacle still more appalling. From the camp they seea man conducted, whom they identify as one of their ill-fatedmessengers. Taken on to the stake, he is placed back against it, witharms extended and strapped to a cross-piece, in a way representing thefigure of the Crucifixion. His breast has been stripped bare, and on itis seen painted in white the hideous symbol of the Death's head andcrossbones.
For what purpose all this display? the spectators conjecture amongthemselves. Not long till they have the answer. They see severalscores of the savages range themselves at a certain distance off, eachgun in hand, one after the other taking aim and discharging his piece atthe human target. Gradually the disc on the breast is seen to darken,turning red, till at length not a spot of white is visible. But longere this the head of the hapless victim, drooped over his shoulder,tells that he is dead.
The cruel tragedy is repeated, showing now what was not known before,that both the ill-starred couriers had been taken alive. He broughtforth next is recognisable, by the picturesque dress still on hisperson, as the _vaquero_. But when taken up to the stake he is strippedof it, the velveteen _jaqueta_ pulled from off his shoulders, his shirttorn away, leaving his breast bare. Then with a hurried touch, thegrim, ghastly device is limned upon him, and he is taken up to the poleas the other.
A fresh fusillade commences, the white gradually showing dimmer, till atlength it is deeply encrimsoned, and the _vaquero_ is a lifeless corpse.
When it is all over, the Coyoteros turn towards the gorge, and lookingup, give utterance to wild yells of triumph, brandishing their weaponsin a threatening manner, as much as to say, "That's the way we'll serveyou all, when the time comes."