Neither sees he them, nor has any suspicion of their dangerous proximity; and without stop or stay he keeps on towards the point where he expects to find his horse.

He goes not without a guide. At the latest hour of twilight he had seen Crusader about a mile off, in a direction due west; and although the night is dark, some of the stars are visible, among them the Polar.

With this on his right shoulder he cannot mistake the way, so continues on in confidence.

He knows he will not need to go groping about, if the horse be still there, as it is hoped he is: a peculiarly intoned call with a whistle will bring him up from far as he can hear it. Many a time has his master, while hunting on the hills round Arispe, so summoned Crusader to his side.

He has advanced more than half a mile, and is thinking whether he shall not give the signal and put an end to all uncertainty. He should now be near enough for it to be heard, and it will tell him if the animal be still there or has wandered away to some other part of the _llano_. In the latter case all his labours will be lost, and no alternative left him but return to the cliff and get hoisted up again.

Still a thought holds him silent. The activity of the Indians, with their frequent patrol parties, more by night than by day, has long been a matter of curiosity and speculation among the miners. What if such a party be now out and within hearing? For he knows that to his voice Crusader will respond with a neigh, and that might undo all. Therefore, curbing his impatience, he proceeds on, silent as a spectre, his glances directed now this way, now that, endeavouring to penetrate the gloom.

All at once he hears the tramp of a horse, on the instant after seeing and recognising Crusader. To his surprise also; for the animal is not at rest or browsing, but moving excitedly about, every now and then uttering a snort, as though he scented danger. His master knows he himself cannot be the cause of this unlooked-for behaviour. The horse is up wind, and could not possibly be aware of his approach. What, then, is exciting him?

Wolves--coyotes? Yes, it must be that; and as a proof of its being so, just then he hears the whining howl of the jackals simultaneously all around.

Such a chorus resounding on every side seems odd, the more from its being heard for but a brief moment, then silence as before. But Henry Tresillian stays not to reflect on its oddity. He fears that the howling repeated may start Crusader into a stampede, and without further delay gives him that signal he knows will be answered. Answered it is, and instantly, by a neigh sent back in response; and in twenty seconds after the horse stands face to face with his young master, his velvet muzzle pressing the latter's cheek. On one side there are words of endearment, on the other a low, joyous whimpering, as though the dumb brute was trying to speak its delight at their being together again.

Crusader opens his mouth to receive the bit, and seems almost to stoop for the saddle to be thrown over him. He is caparisoned in a trice; but just as Henry Tresillian, stooping to tighten the girths, gets the buckle into its hole, he hears that which causes him to rise erect, and clutch at the bridle: the sound of hoofs on all sides; horses evidently, with men upon their backs. Indians!--they can be no other!

Quick as thought he vaults into the saddle, and sets himself ready to make a dash.

In what direction? He knows that which he should take for Arispe. But is it open to him? This he cannot tell, nor, indeed, that any way is open to him. For he now hears the tramp of horses all around, and before he can resolve himself, sees the horses themselves. It has grown a little clearer, for the moon is about to rise, and Crusader's neigh had guided the Indians to the spot.

If he stay, Henry Tresillian is conscious he will soon be encircled by a crowd with no chance to get clear of it. Already he sees its ring closing around him.

But the Indians are still some fifty yards distant, come to a halt; suddenly and with shouts of surprise, for they have sighted him. There is even terror in their accents, with awe in their hearts--awe of the supernatural. They supposed themselves making surround of a horse, when lo! there is a man upon his back, all in keeping with the mysterious character Crusader has obtained among those who have vainly chased him.

The young Englishman notes their strange behaviour, but without thought of the cause. He knows, however, they will not stay long at rest, and, by the better light, seeing a break in their line, sets his horse's head for it, gives the word with touch of knee, and springs forward at full speed, determined to take his chance.

In a dozen strides he is between two of the Coyotero hors.e.m.e.n, when he feels his bridle arm suddenly drawn back and held tight to his body; then, with a quick jerk he is lifted clean out of the saddle and flung with violence to the earth!

Fortunately he is neither stunned nor loses consciousness, but has all his senses about him; he knows what has happened, and that he is in the noose of a la.s.so. But his right arm is free, and, instantly regaining his feet, he draws his knife, and, severing the cord in twain, releases himself.

It would have been to little purpose had his horse been other than he is. But the sagacious animal, seeming to comprehend all, instead of galloping away, has stayed by his side, and in another moment has its master on its back again.

With to all appearance a clear track before him now, the daring youth once more makes forward, favoured by the confusion that has arisen among the savages. In the dim light they are unable to distinguish the strange horseman from one of themselves, and their surprise is but increased with their superst.i.tious terror, both holding them spellbound.

They but cry out, and question one another, without making any effort to pursue.

Henry Tresillian begins to think himself safe away, when he sees one of the Coyoteros, who had lagged behind their line, come full tilt towards him in a gallop as himself. Before he can check his pace, their animals meet in violent collision, and the mustang of the Indian is flung back on its haunches, dismounting its rider. The man has his gun in hand, and, seeing a paleface, instinctively raises the piece, taking aim at him. But before he can touch the trigger, the English youth has also a piece levelled--a pistol, which cracks first; and the savage, uttering a wild agonised yell, staggers a pace or two, and falls backward on the gra.s.s.

With nothing more in his way now, his young master again gives Crusader the word, and off go they at highest race-course speed.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

UP THE CLIFF AGAIN.

It is some time before the Indians recover from their mystification. Is the black horse flesh and blood, or a phantom?

Not until they have closed together and taken counsel of one another is this question resolved. The wiser of them affirm that in some way one of the palefaces must have got down the cliff, caught the horse, and mounted him. That the rider, at least, is a mortal being they have ample evidence in their comrade stretched dead upon the plain by a bullet.

The sight rekindles all their ire, and shouts of vengeance make the welkin ring. But only for a while. Silence again reigns, and the hoof-strokes of the retreating fugitive can be heard through the tranquil calm of the night, stirring them to pursuit.

Away go they in gallop after; but not all, nearly half of them turning their horses' heads towards the cliff. For if the white men have let one of their number down, there should be some sign of it, which they proceed to search for.

Impossible to depict the feelings of those on the _mesa_, above all, the ones who have been standing on the ledges to await the result. They cannot have themselves hoisted up again till sure their messenger has either failed or got free, and from the moment of his parting from the cliff's base, to them all had been uncertainty. Terrible suspense, too, from the very first; for although they saw not the Indians pa.s.sing underneath, they heard their horses' tread, now and then a hoof striking against stone, or in dull thud upon the hard turf. Though they could not make out what it meant, they knew it was something adverse--hostile.

Horses would not be there without men on their backs, and these must be enemies.

Listening on, with hearts anxiously beating, they hear that strange concatenation of cries, the supposed howling of coyotes, all around the plain. It puzzles them, too; but before they have time to reflect on it a sound better understandable reaches their ears--the neighing of a horse--most of them recognising it as Crusader's, for most are familiar with its peculiar intonation.

More intently than ever do they listen now, but for a time hear nothing more. Only a brief interval; then arise sounds that excite their apprehension to its keenest--voices of men, in confused clamouring, the accent proclaiming them Indians.

Robert Tresillian, still standing beside the _gambusino_ on the lowest ledge, feels his heart sink within him, as he exclaims: "My poor boy!

lost--lost!"

"Wait, senor," says Vicente, with an effort to appear calm. "That's not so sure. All's not lost that's in danger. If there be a chance of escape your brave son's the very one to take advantage of it. _Oiga_!

what's that?"

His question has reference to another chorus of cries heard out on the plain; then a moment's lull, succeeded by a crashing sound as of two heavy bodies brought into collision. After that a shot, quickly followed by a yell--a groan.

"A pistol!" exclaims the _gambusino_, "and sure the one Senorito Henrique took with him. I'll warrant he's made good use of it."

The father is too full of anxious thought to make reply; he but listens on with all ears, and heart audibly pulsating.

Next to hear the hoof-strokes of a horse in gallop as if going off; which in a way cheers him: it may be his son escaped.

But then there is more confused clamour, with loud e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns--voices raised in vengeance; and after the trampling of other horses, apparently starting in pursuit.

What is to be done now?--draw up the rope, and have themselves drawn up?

There seems no reason for their waiting longer. The messenger is either safe off, or has been captured; one way or the other he will not get back there. So they may as well reascend the cliff.

Besides, a thought of their own safety now forces itself upon them. A streak of light along the horizon admonishes them of the uprising moon.

Already her precursory rays, reflected over the plain, begin to lighten the obscurity, rendering objects more distinct, and they now make out a dark ma.s.s on the _llano_ below, a party of hors.e.m.e.n, moving in the direction of the _mesa_.

"We'd better pull up, Don Roberto," says the _gambusino_; "they're coming this way, and if they see the rope it will guide their eyes to ourselves, and we're both lost men. They carry guns, and we'll be within easy range, not over thirty yards from them. _Por Dios_! if they sight us we're undone."

Don Roberto makes neither protest nor objection. By this his son has either got clear or is captured: in either case, he cannot return to them. And, as his companion, he is keenly sensible to the danger which is now threatening, so signifies a.s.sent.

Silently they draw up the rope, and soon as it is all in their hands, signal to those above to hoist them also. First one, making it fast round his body, is pulled up; then the loop is let down, and the other ascends, raised by an invisible power above.

Four are now on the next ledge, and, by like course of proceeding are lifted one after another to that still higher, the sloping benches between helping them in their ascent. All is done noiselessly, cautiously; for the savages are now seen below in dark clump, stationary near the foot of the precipice.

They have reached the last bench, and so far unmolested, begin to think themselves out of danger,

But alas, no! The silence long prevailing is suddenly broken by a rock displaced and rolling down; while at the same moment the treacherous moon, showing over the horizon's edge, reveals them to the eyes of the Indians.

Then there is a chorus of wild yells, followed by shots--a very fusillade; bullets strike the rocks and break fragments off, while other shots fired in return by those above into the black ma.s.s below instantly disperse it.