Yet time pa.s.sed, no matter how slow, and he was helped greatly by his physical exercises, which gave him occupation, besides preparing him for an expected ordeal. Hope, too, was doing its great work. He could fairly feel the strength flowing back into his veins, and his nerves becoming tougher and more supple. Every night he looked out at the mountain slope and itemized his little garden there that he had never touched, shrub by shrub, stone by stone, not forgetting the great cactus. He told himself that he did not expect to see any light there again, because the unknown sender of messages had not spoken of another, but, deep down at the bottom of his heart, he was hoping to behold the torch once more, and he felt disappointment when it did not appear.

He tried to imagine how Phil looked. He knew that he must be a great, strong boy, as big as a man. He knew that his spirit was bold and enterprising, yet he must have had uncommon skill and fortune to have penetrated so deep into Mexico, and to preserve a hiding-place so near to the great Castle of Montevideo. And the friends with him must be molded of the finest steel. Who were they? He recalled daring and adventurous spirits among his own comrades in the fatal expedition, but as he ran over every one in his mind he shook his head. It could not be.

It is the truth that, during all this period, inflicting such a tremendous strain upon the captive, John never once tried the key in the door. It was the supreme test of his character, of his restraint, of his power of will, and he pa.s.sed it successfully. The thread, the dagger, and the key lay together untouched in the bottom of the old mattress, and he waited in all the outward seeming of patience.

The first night was very clear, on the second it rained for six or seven hours. The entire mountainside was veiled in sheets of water or vapor, and John saw nothing beyond his window but the black blur. The third night was clear, but when the morning of the fourth day dawned, John thought, from the clouds that were floating along the mountain slope, it would be rainy again. He hoped that the promise would come true.

Darkness and rain favor an escaping prisoner.

The last day was the most terrible of all. Now and then he found his heart pounding as if it would rack itself to pieces. It was difficult to go through with the exercises, and it was still more difficult to preserve calmness of manner in the presence of Diego. Yet he did both.

Moreover, his natural steadiness seemed to come back to him as the hour drew near. His was one of those rare and fortunate natures which may be nervous and apprehensive some time before the event, but which become hard and firm when it is at hand. Now John found himself singularly calm. The eternity of waiting had pa.s.sed, and he was strong and ready.

Diego brought him his supper early, and then, through his loophole, he watched the twilight deepen into the night. And with the night came the rain that the morning and afternoon clouds had predicted. It was a cold rain, driven by a wind that shrieked down the valley, and drops of it, hurled like shot the full width of the slit, struck John in the face.

But he liked the cool sharp touch, and he felt sure that the rain would continue all through the night. So much the better.

John's clothing was old and ragged, and he wore a pair of heelless Mexican shoes. He had no hat or cap. But a prisoner of three lonely years seeking to escape was not likely to think of such things.

He waited patiently through these last hours. He was compelled to judge for himself when midnight had come, but he believed that he had made a close calculation. Then he took a final look through the loophole. The wind, with a mighty groaning and shrieking, was still driving the rain down the slopes, and nothing was visible. Then, with a firm hand, he took from the bed the thread, the knife, and the key. It was not likely that he would have any further use for the thread, but for the sake of precaution he put it in his pocket. He also slipped the dagger into the back of his coat at the neck, after a southwestern fashion which allowed a man to draw and strike with a single motion.

Then, key in hand, he boldly approached the door. Some throbbings of doubt appeared, but he sternly repressed them. Giving himself no time for hesitation, he put the key in the lock and turned his hand toward the right. The key, without any creaking or sc.r.a.ping, turned with it.

His heart gave a great leap. He did not know until now that he had really doubted. His joy at the fact showed it. But the miracles were coming true, one after another.

He turned the key around the proper distance, and he heard the heavy bolt slide back. He knew that he would have nothing to do now but pull on the door, yet he paused a few moments as one lingers over a great pleasure, in order to make it greater. He pulled, and the door came back with the same familiar slight creak that he had heard it make so often when Diego entered or left. With an involuntary gesture of one hand, he bade farewell to his cell and stepped into the long, dark corridor upon which the row of cells opened. But for the sake of precaution he locked the cell door again and put the key in his pocket.

Then he drew the slender dagger, clutched it firmly in his right hand, and stepped softly back against the wall, which was in heavy shadow, no light entering it from the narrow barred window at either end. John's heart beat painfully, but he did not believe that the miracles which were being done in his behalf had yet ended. With his back still toward the wall, and his hand on the hilt of the dagger, he slipped soundlessly along for a few feet. His eyes, growing used to the darkness, made out the posts at the head of a stairway.

Evidently this was the way he should go, and he paused again. Then his blood slowly chilled within him. A human figure was standing beside one of the posts. He saw it distinctly. It was the figure of a tall man in a long black serape, with a dark handkerchief tied around mouth and chin after the frequent Mexican fashion, and a great sombrero which nearly met the handkerchief. He could see nothing but the narrowest strip of dark face, and in the dusk the man rose to the size of a giant. He was truly a formidable figure to one who had been three years a captive, to one who was armed only with a slender knife.

But the crisis in John Bedford's life was so great that he advanced straight toward the ominous presence in his path. The man said nothing, but John felt as he approached that the stranger was regarding him steadily. Moreover, he made no motion to draw a weapon. John saw now that one of his hands rested on the post at the stairhead, and the other hung straight down by his side. Surely this was not the att.i.tude of a foe! Perhaps here was merely another in the chain of miracles that had begun to work in his behalf. He advanced a step or two nearer, and the stranger was yet motionless. Another step, and the man spoke in a sharp whisper:

"You are John Bedford?"

"I am," replied John.

"I've been waiting for you. Come. But first take this."

He drew a double-barreled pistol from his pocket and handed it to John, who did as he was told. The stranger then produced from under his capacious serape another serape and a Mexican hat, which John, acting under his instructions, also put on.

"Now," said the man, "follow me, and do what I do or what I tell you.

"It is the midnight hour, They wait us at the gate.

May Heaven its favors pour, Then easy is our fate.

You seem to be a brave fellow like your brother; then now is the time to show your courage, and remember, also, that I can do all the talking for both of us. Talking is my great specialty."

It seemed to John that the stranger spoke in an odd manner, but he liked the sound of his voice, which was at once strong and kind. Why should he not like a man who had come through every imaginable danger to save him from a living death!

"My brother?" whispered John in his eagerness. "Is he still near?"

"I told you I was to do all the talking," replied the man. "You just follow and step as lightly as you can."

John obeyed, and, after a descent of a few steps, they came to one of the heavy wooden doors, twelve feet high, but the stranger unlocked it with a key taken from the folds of that invaluable Mexican garment, the serape.

"You didn't think I'd come on such a trip as this without making full preparations?" said the man with a slight humorous inflection. Then he added: "You're just a plain, common Mexican, some servant or other, employed about the castle, and you continue to slouch along behind me, who may be an officer for all one knows in this darkness. But first push with me on this door. Push hard and push slowly."

The heavy door moved back a foot or two, but that was all the stranger wanted. He slipped through the opening, and John came after him. Then the man closed and locked the door again.

"A wise burglar leaves no trail behind him," he said, "and, although it is too dark for me to see you very well, I want to tell you, Sir John of the Cell, that your figure and walk remind me a great deal of your brother, Sir Philip of the Mountain, the River, and the Plain, as gallant a lad as one may meet in many a long day."

A question, a half dozen of them leaped to John's lips, but, remembering his orders, he checked them all there.

"Ah, I see," said the stranger. "That would certainly tempt any man to ask questions, but, remembering what I told you, you did not ask them.

You are of the true metal.

"Though in prison he lay, His spirit was strong, He sought a better day, And now it's come along.

At least it's a better night, which, for the uses of poetry, is the same as day. This stairway, John, leads into the great inner court, and then our troubles begin, although we ought to return thanks all the rest of our days for the rain and the heavy darkness. The Mexican officers will see no reason why they shouldn't remain under shelter, and the Mexican soldiers, in this case, will be glad enough to do as their officers do."

John now followed his guide with absolute faith. The man spoke more queerly than anybody else that he had ever heard, but everything that he did or said inspired confidence.

They came to the bottom of the stairway and reached the great paved central court, with the buildings of the officers scattered here and there. They stepped into the court, and John fairly shrank within himself when the cold rain lashed into his face. He did not know until then how three years within ma.s.sive walls had softened and weakened him.

But he held himself erect and tautened his nerves, resolved that his comrade should not see that he had shivered.

They saw lights shining from the windows of some of the low buildings, but no human being was visible within the square.

"They've all sought cover," said his rescuer, "and now is our best chance to get through one of the gates. After that there are other walls and ditches to be pa.s.sed, but, Sir John of the Night, the Wall, the Rain, and the Moat, we'll pa.s.s them. This little plan of ours has been too well laid to go astray. Just the same, you keep that pistol handy."

John drew the serape about his thin body. It was useful for other things than disguise. Without it the cold would have struck him to the bone. His rescuer led the way across the court until they came to one of the great gates in the wall. The sentinel then was pacing back and forth, his musket on his shoulder, and at intervals he called: "Sentinela alerte!" that his comrades at other gates might hear, and out of the wind and rain came at intervals, though faintly, the responding cry, "Sentinela alerte!" John and the stranger were almost upon this man when the cry "Sentinela alerte!" came from the next gate. He turned quickly as the two dark figures emerged from the darker gloom, but the stranger, with extraordinary dexterity, threw his serape over his face, checking any cry, while his powerful hands choked him into insensibility. At the same time the stranger uttered the answering cry, "Sentinela alerte!"

"You haven't killed him?" exclaimed John, aghast, as his rescuer let the Mexican slide to the wet earth.

"Not at all," replied this resourceful man. "The cold rain will bring him back to his senses in five minutes and in ten minutes he will be as well as ever, but in ten minutes we should play our hand, if we ever play it."

He drew an enormous key from the pocket of the Mexican, unlocked the gate, and, after they had pa.s.sed out, locked it behind them. Then they stood on the edge of the great moat, two hundred feet wide, twenty feet deep and bank full. The man dropped the key into the water.

"Now, Sir John of the Escape," he said, "the drawbridge is up, and if it were down it would be too well guarded for us to pa.s.s. We must swim. I don't know how strong you are after a long life in prison, but swim you must. Life is dear, and I think you'll swim. We'll take off most of our clothes and tie them with our weapons on our heads. What a wild night! But how good it is for us!"

Crouching in the shadow of the wall they took off most of their clothes, and then each tied them in a package containing his weapons, also, on his head. They were secured with strips torn from John's rags.

Meanwhile, the night was increasing in wildness. John would have viewed it with awe, had not his escape absorbed every thought. The wind groaned through the gorges of the great Sierra, and the cold rain lashed like a whip. The rumblings of thunder came from far and deep valleys between the ridges.

"Now," said the man, "we'll drop into the moat together. But let yourself down by your hands as gently as you can, and make no splash when you strike. Now, over we go!"

The two dropped into the water, taking care not to go under, and then began to swim toward the far edge of the moat. John had been a good swimmer, but the water was very cold to his thin body. Nevertheless, he swam with a fairly steady stroke, until they were about half-way across, when he felt cramps creeping over him. But the stranger, who kept close by his side, had been watching, and he put one hand under John's body.

In water the light support became a strong one, and now John swam easily.

They reached the far edge and climbed up on the wall. Here John lay a little while, gasping, while the stranger, who now seemed a very G.o.d to him, rubbed his cold body to bring back the warmth. From a point down the bank came the cry "Sentinela alerte!" and from a point in the other direction came the answering cry, "Sentinela alerte!"

"Lie flat," whispered his rescuer to John, "and we'll wriggle across fifty feet of ground here until we come to a wooden wall. We're lost if we stand up, because I think lightning is coming with that thunder."

He spoke with knowledge, as the thunder suddenly grew louder and the air around them was tinted with phosph.o.r.escent light. It was not a flare of lightning, merely its distant reflection, but it was enough to have disclosed them, if they had been standing, to any one ten paces distant.