Part 5 (1/2)
All know to what Vicente alludes: a ma.s.sacre of Apache Indians by a party of Mexican soldiers, after being lured and lulled into false security by professions of peace--cold-blooded and cruel, as any recorded in the annals of frontier warfare.
”I've said it. I'm good as sure they're Apaches,” repeats the _gambusino_, more impressively. ”And it would be madness, sheer insanity, to await them here. We must up to the _mesa_.”
”But will we be safe there?”
”As in a citadel. No fortress ever contrived, or made by hand of man, is strong as the Cerro Perdido. Twenty men could hold it against as many hundreds--ay, thousands. _Carramba_! We may thank the Virgin for providing us with such a secure retreat; so handy, and just in the nick of time.”
”Then let us to it,” a.s.sents Don Estevan, after a brief consultation with his partner, who no longer opposes the step, though by it they may lose their all. ”We'll follow your advice, Senor Vicente; and you have our authority to order everything as it seems best to you.”
”I've only one order to give, your wors.h.i.+ps; that's _arriba_! Up, all and everybody!”
CHAPTER EIGHT.
TENDER LEAVE-TAKINGS.
The excitement in the camp, already at full height, now changes to a quick, confused hurrying to and fro, accompanied by cries of many kinds.
Here and there is heard the terrified scream of a woman, who, babe in arms, fancies the spear of a savage pointed at her breast, to impale herself and offspring.
There is a rush for the gorge, up which a stream of human forms is soon seen swarming as ants up their hill. And, with a gallantry which distinguishes the miner as the mariner, the women and children are permitted foremost place in the upward retreat, a.s.sisted by husbands.
Without serious accident all succeed in reaching the summit, where the women are left, the men who went with them hurrying back below. It is hard to part with valuable property and cherished household G.o.ds--still harder to see these appropriated by a hated enemy--and an effort is to be made for saving what can be saved. At first they only thought of their lives; but half a dozen men, who had sprung to their horses at the earliest moment of alarm, and galloped out beyond the mountain's flank to get better view, signal back that the Indians are not yet in sight.
So there is still a chance to take up a portion of the camp equipage, with such goods as are likely to be most needed in the event of their having to sustain a siege.
”The ammunition and provender first!” shouts Vicente, back again at camp, with full authority of direction. ”Take up everything that's food for man and loading for gun. After that whatever we'll have time for.”
Knowing their women now safe, the men work with spirit; and soon a different sort of stream is seen ascending the gorge: a string of burden-bearers, continuous from plain to summit; hastily returning down again, relieved of their loads, to take up others. Never were bees so busy. Some remain below, getting the goods out of the wagons, and making packages of them, convenient for the difficult transport. The bales and boxes--lading of the pack-mules--are broken open, and their more valuable effects picked out and carried off; so that in a short s.p.a.ce of time not much remains save the mining tools and machinery, with the heavier articles of house furniture.
Could the Rattlesnake have known of this quick precautionary sacking of the camp by its owners, he and his would have approached it in greater haste. But they are seen coming on now. The mounted videttes have at length signalled them in sight, they themselves galloping in at the same time, and dropping down from their horses.
There is a last gathering up of bundles, which includes the two smaller tents--the marquee left standing. Then the final _debandade_; all turning face towards the gorge, and toiling up it.
No, not all as yet; more than one lingers below. For the horses must needs be left behind; impossible to take them up a steep where only goat, sheep, or clawed creature might go. And more than one has a master who parts with it reluctantly. Regretfully, too, at thought of its changing owner, and to such owner as will soon enter upon possession. Even some of the teamsters and muleteers have an affection for their mules, the head _arriero_ regarding the whole _atajo_ as his children, and the ”bell-mare” almost as a mother. Many a long mile and league has he listened to her guiding bell; its cheerful tinkle proclaiming the route clear along narrow dizzy ledge, or through deep defile. And now he will hear its music no more.
But the ties must be severed, the parting take place. Which it does, amidst phrases and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of leave-taking, tender as though the left ones were human beings instead of dumb brutes. ”_Caballo-- caballito querido_!” ”_Mula-mulita mia_!” ”_Pobre-pobrecita_! _Dios te guarda_!” And mingled with these are exclamations of a less gentle kind--anathemas hurled at the redskins coming on to take possession of their pets.
At this last Pedro Vicente is among the loudest. As yet he has had only half-payment for his late discovered mine, the remaining moiety dependent on the working it. And now the crash--all the mining apparatus to be destroyed--perhaps the purchasing firm made bankrupt, if even life be left them. Thinking of all this, and what he has already suffered at the hands of ”_Los Indios_” no wonder at his cursing them.
He, however, is not one of those taking affectionate and sentimental farewell of their animals. His horse is a late purchase, and though of fine appearance, has proved aught but a bargain. For there are ”copers”
in Arispe as elsewhere, and the _gambusino_ has been their victim.
Hence he parts with the disappointing steed neither regretfully nor reluctantly. But not with the saddle and bridle; these, of elaborate adornment having cost him far more than the horse. So shouldering them, he too re-ascends, last of all save one.
That one is Henry Tresillian; and very different is the parting between him and the animal of his belonging. The English youth almost sheds tears as he stands by his horse's head, patting his neck and stroking his muzzle, the last time he may ever lay hand on either. Nay, surely, too surely, the last. And the n.o.ble creature seems to know it too, responding to the caress by a low mournful whimpering.
”Ah! my beautiful Crusader! to think I must leave you behind! And to be ridden by a redskin--a cruel savage who will take no care of you. Oh!
it is hard--hard!”
Crusader appears to comprehend what is said, for his answer is something like a moan. It may be that he interprets the melancholy expression on his master's face--that master who has been so kind to him.