Part 17 (1/2)
”And a large pack-train?”
”Yes; the _atajo_ seemed to number about fourscore mules.”
For a moment the Colonel is silent, seeming to reflect, then says:
”Villanueva would know how to throw these _carros_ into _corral_, and with so many pack-saddles ought to make a defensible breastwork, to say nothing of the bales and boxes of goods. If not taken by surprise while _en route_, he'd be sure of using that precaution. So protected, and armed as they were, they ought to hold good their ground against any number of redskins. The worst danger would be their getting dropped on in some place without water. In that case surrender would be the necessary result, and surrender to Apaches were as death itself.”
”_Santissima_! yes--we all know that. But, Requenes, do you really think we've to fear their having met such a disaster?”
”I don't know what to think. I'd fain not fear it, but the thing looks grave, no matter in what way one views it. There should have been word from them several days ago; none coming, what other can be the explanation?”
”Ay, true; what other?” rejoins the _ganadero_, despondently. ”But what ought we to do?” he adds.
”I've been considering that for some time, but couldn't make up my mind.
I've made it up now.”
”To what?”
”To sending one of my squadrons along the route they took; with orders to follow it up, if need be, to the new-discovered mine; at all events, till it be ascertained what hinders our hearing from them.”
”That seems the best and only way,” returns Don Juliano. ”But when do you propose your men to start?”
”Immediately--soon as they can be ready. For such an expedition, most of the way through a very wilderness, they will need supplies, however lightly equipped. But I will issue the order this moment. Cecilio,” to the aide-de-camp, ”hasten down to the _cuartel_, and tell Major Garcia to come to me at once.”
The young officer, rising at the words and clapping on his shako, makes straight for the outer door. But before stepping over its threshold, he sees that which causes him to return instantly to the receiving-room, to the surprise of those he had left there.
”What is it?” demands the Colonel.
”Look there!”
He points out through the open window over the _plaza_ in front of it.
Springing from their seats and moving up to it, they perceive a young man on horseback advancing towards the house; his face pale, and with a wayworn look, his dress dust-stained, and otherwise out of order, the horse he bestrides steaming at the nostrils, froth clouted, and with palpitating flanks.
”_Caramba_!” exclaims Colonel Requenes. ”That's young Tresillian, the son of Villanueva's partner!”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
TO THE RESCUE.
In an instant after Henry Tresillian is inside the room, warmly received by both the Colonel and _ganadero_; less so by the young officer, though the two had been formerly bosom friends. The coolness of Cecilio Romero can be easily understood; but in the scene which succeeds, with hasty questioning, and answers alike hurried, no one takes note of it.
”You bring news--bad news, I fear?” says the Colonel.
”Bad, yes. I'm sorry having to say so,” returns the messenger. ”This is for you, senor--from Don Estevan Villanueva. 'Twill tell you all.”
He pulls a folded paper from under his jacket, and hands it to the Colonel.
Breaking it open, the latter reads aloud; Romero standing by and listening, for its contents concern them all.
Thus ran it: