CHAPTER THREE.
A RUSH FOR WATER.
Meanwhile, with many a crack of whip and cry of "_Anda!" "Mulamaldita_!" the miners have been toiling on towards the Lost Mountain.At slow pace, a crawl; for their animals, jaded and distressed by thelong-endured thirst, have barely strength enough left to drag the wagonsafter them. Even the pack-mules totter under their loaded _alparejas_.
Viewing the eminence from the place where they had pulled up, the minelabourers, like the Englishman, had been inclined to doubt the guide'sallegation as to the distance. Men whose lives are for the most partspent underground, are as sailors ashore when above it, oddly ignorantof things on the surface, save what may be learnt inside a liquorsaloon. Hence their unbelief in Vicente's statement was altogethernatural. But the mule and cattle-drivers knew better, and that the_gambusino_ was not deceiving them.
All come to this conclusion ere long, a single hour sufficing toconvince them of their mistake; at the end of which, though movingcontinuously on, and making the best speed in their power, the mountainseems far off as ever. And when a second hour has elapsed, thediminution of distance is barely perceptible.
The sun is low down--almost touching the horizon--as they get nearenough to the Cerro to note its peculiar features; for peculiar theseare. Of oblong form it is; and, viewed sideways, bears resemblance to agigantic catafalque or coffin, its top level as the lid. Not smooth,however, the horizontal line being broken by trees and bushes that standin shaggy silhouette against the blue background of sky. At all pointsit presents a _facade_ grim and precipitous, here and there enamelled byspots and streaks of verdure, wherever ledge or crevice gives plants ofthe scandent kind an opportunity to strike root. It is about a mile inlength, trending nearly north and south, having a breadth of about halfthis; and in height some five hundred feet. Not much for a mountain,but enough to make it a conspicuous object, visible at a great distanceoff over that smooth expanse of plain. All the more from its standingsolitary and alone; no other eminence within view of it, neither_sierra_ nor spur; so looking as if strayed and _lost_--hence the quaintappellation it bears.
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"At which end is the lake, Senor Vicente?" asks the elder Tresillian, asthey are wending their way towards it; he, with Don Estevan and theguide, as before, being in advance of the wagon train.
"The southern and nearer one, your worship. And luckily for us it isso. If it were at the other end, we'd still have a traverse of a leagueat least before reaching it."
"How's that? I've heard that the Cerro is only a mile in length."
"True, senor, that's all. But there are rocks strewn over the _llano_below, for hundreds of yards out, and so thick we couldn't take thewagons through them. I suppose they must have fallen from the cliffs,but how they got scattered so far, that puzzles me, though rocks havebeen the study of my life."
"So they have, Pedro," put in Don Estevan. "And you've studied them tosome purpose. But let us not enter into a geological discussion now. Ifeel more concerned about something else."
"About what, your worship?"
"Some memory tells me that Indians are accustomed to visit the CerroPerdido. Though I can see no sign of human being about it, who knowsbut there might be?"
This is said after examination of the plain all along the base of themountain through a field-glass, which Don Estevan habitually carries onhis person.
"Therefore," he continues, "I think it advisable that some five or sixride ahead--those who are best mounted--and make sure that the coast isclear. In case of redskins being there in any formidable numbers, theknowledge of it in time will enable us to form _corral_, and so betterdefend ourselves should we be attacked."
Before becoming a master miner, Don Estevan had been a soldier, and seenservice on the Indian frontier, in more than one campaign against thethree great hostile tribes, Comanches, Apache, and Navajo. For whichreason the _gambusino_, instead of making light of his counsel,altogether approves of it--of course volunteering to be himself of thereconnoitring party.
In fine, there is another short halt, while the scouts are beingselected; half a dozen men of spirit and mettle, whose horses are stillstrong enough to show speed, should there be Indians and pursuit.
Of the half-dozen, Henry Tresillian is one; he coming up quick to thecall. No fear of his horse giving out, or failing to carry him safeback if pursued, and whoever the pursuers. A noble animal of Arabstrain it is, coal-black, with a dash of dun-colour between the hips andon either side of the muzzle. Nor shows it signs of distress, as theothers, notwithstanding all it has come through. For has not its youngmaster shared with it every ration of water served out along the way,even the last one that morning?
In a few minutes the scouting party is told off, and, after receivingfull instructions, starts onward.
The elder Tresillian has made no objection to his son being of it;instead, being rather proud of the spirit the latter is displaying, andfollows him with admiring eyes as he rides off.
Still another pair of eyes go after him, giving glances in which prideand fear are strangely commingled. For they are those of GertrudesVillanueva. She is proud that he, whom her young heart is just learningto love, should possess such courage, while apprehensive of what maycome of it.
"_Adelante_!" calls out the _mayor-domo_, who has chief charge of thecaravan; and once more there is a vigorous wielding of whips, with anobjurgation of mules, as the animals move reluctantly and laboriouslyon.
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In twenty minutes after, all is changed with them. Horse and hybrid--every animal in the train--have raised head and pricked up ears, withnostrils distended. Even the horned cattle to rearward have caught theinfection, and low loudly in response to the neighing of the horses andthe hinneying of the mules. There is a very _fracas_ of noises, like aBedlam broke loose, the voice of the _mayor-domo_ rising above all as hecries out,
"_Guarda, la estampeda_!"
And a "stampede" it becomes, all knowing the cause. The animals havescented water, and no longer need whip-lash or cry to urge them on.Instead, teamsters and _arrieros_ find it impossible to restrain them,for it were a struggle against Nature itself. Taking the bits betweentheir teeth, and regardless of rein, horses, mules, all rushsimultaneously and madly forward, as if each had a score of gadflieswith their venomous probosces buried deep in its body.
A helter-skelter it is, with a loud hullaballoo, the heavily-ladenwagons drawn over the ground as light-like and with the velocity ofbicycles, and making noise as of thunder. For now, near the mountain'sfoot, the plain is bestrewed with stones, some big enough to raise thewheels on high, almost to overturning the vehicles, eliciting agonisedcries from the women and children inside them. No more are Indiansthought of for the time; enough danger without that, from upsets, brokenbones, indeed death.
In the end none of these eventualities arise. Luckily--and more by goodluck than guiding--the wagons keep their balance, and they within themtheir places, till all come to a stand again. While still tearing on,they see before them a disc of water lit up by the last rays ofdeparting sunlight, with half a dozen horsemen--the reconnoitringparty--drawn up on its edge, in attitude of wonder at their coming afterso soon.
But their animals, still in rush, give no opportunity for explanation.On go they into the lake, horses, mules, and cattle mingled together;nor stop till they are belly-deep, with the water up over theirnostrils. No more neighing nor lowing now, but all silent, swilling,and contented.