The danger itself gave them new strength, and they quickly crossed the ground to the _chevaux de frise_, where they crouched against the tall cedar posts. They lay almost flat upon the ground, and they were very glad of the shelter, because the lightning was coming nearer. Now, when the lightning flashed along the mountain slopes, they saw not far away the dim figure of a soldier, and they heard distinctly his cry: "Sentinela alerte!"

"Wait until he goes back," whispered the stranger. "Then we must climb the wall and climb it quickly. It's fastened with cross timbers which will give us hold for both hand and foot."

The lightning tinted the sky once more with its phosph.o.r.escent gleam, and they did not see the soldier.

"Now for it!" said the man in a sharp, commanding whisper. "Up with you and over the wall!"

John seized the crosspiece, and in another instant was on the top of a wall of cedar posts twelve feet high. He did not know until afterward that the strong hand of his rescuer had helped him up. In another instant the man was beside him, and then the lightning flared brightly, showing vividly the huge castle, the stone ramparts, the moats and the two figures, naked to the waist, sitting on top of the cedar wall.

"Sentinela alerte!" was shouted far louder than usual, and "Sentinela alerte!" came the reply in the same tone. Two musket shots were fired, and the two figures, one with a red stain on his side, sprang outward from the cedar fence into the second and smaller moat, which was only fourteen feet wide, although its outer wall was an earthwork rising very high above the water. Two or three strong strokes carried them across, and with desperate efforts they climbed up the high bank. They heard shouts, and they knew that when the lightning flared again more shots would be fired at them. It was then that John noticed the red stain on the side of his comrade, and all the reserves of mental strength that made him so much like his brother, Philip, came to his aid. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the package from his head, tore it apart, threw the serape around his body and stood up, erect and defiant, pistol in hand. He would do something for this man who had done so much for him.

The lightning flared again, a long quivering stroke, and the heads of half a dozen men appeared at the crest of the _chevaux de frise_, not twenty feet away. But John Bedford looked at only one of them. He saw the swarthy, angry face of de Armijo. He seemed to be beckoning with his sword to his men, but a flash like that of the lightning seared John's whole brain. He remembered how this man had struck him down, when he was chained and helpless, and he fired point blank at the angry face. De Armijo fell back with a terrible cry. He was not dead, but the bullet had plowed full length across his cheek, and he would bear there a terrible red weal all the rest of his life.

The lightning pa.s.sed, and they were in complete darkness, but John felt a hand on his arm.

"Come," whispered his rescuer. "You did that well. Prison hasn't taken any of the manhood from you. We're outside everything now, and the others are waiting for us."

They fled away together in the darkness.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE HUT IN THE COVE

John Bedford forgot everything in those moments of wild exultation save the fact that he was free. The miracles had begun, and the whole chain was now complete. After three years in one cell he had left behind him forever, as he believed, the Castle of Montevideo, and he was going straight to his brother and powerful friends. He cast back only a single look, and then he saw the huge dim bulk of the castle showing through the mists and the rain. But presently the woods shut it from view, and he could not have seen it had he looked again. John's exultation, the vast rebound, grew. He had escaped, and he had struck down the enemy who had struck him. He felt equal to anything, and he forgot for the moment that the man who had rescued him in such an extraordinary way was wounded. But the man himself stopped soon.

"We'll wait here, Sir John of the Fleet Foot," he said. "Our friends who are frolicking in this th.o.r.n.y Forest of Arden were to come if they heard the sound of firing, and we must not go far away lest we miss them. Truly that was a fine and timely shot of yours, Sir John of the Bold Escape, and I judged by the look of your face that you had no love for the man at whom you fired."

"I did not," replied John. "He beat me, when I was in chains."

The other man uttered a low whistle.

"That was a nasty thing to do, but you are even. If he's still alive he'll have a face that will scare a dog.

"Whate'er you do Unto another, Some day that other Will do unto you.

"Bear that in mind, young sir. In the hour of triumph do not rejoice too much in the fall of the man who has failed, because when he achieves his triumph and you have failed, which is likely to come to pa.s.s some time or other, he may make some moments exceedingly bitter unto thee.

And now I shall dress myself, as I think I hear the footsteps of visitors."

John remembered that he, too, was clad lightly, and hastily put on his upper garments, while his friend did likewise. He now heard the steps, also, and they were rapidly coming nearer.

"Shouldn't we move?" he whispered. "Those must be Mexicans."

"No, we shouldn't move, because those are not the footsteps of Mexicans.

Those sounds are made by the hardy feet of just two persons. One of them is a large brave German man, whose tread I would know a mile away, and the other, the lighter tread of whom is drowned in the volume of sound made by his comrade, is a boy, a strong, healthy boy who comes from a little town in Kentucky, which has the same name as a big town in France."

John began to tremble all over. He knew what these words meant. His friend uttered a low whistle, and quickly a low whistle in reply came from a point not twenty feet away. There was a moment of silence, then the approaching footsteps were resumed, the bushes were parted, and, as the lightning flared once more across the sky, John Bedford and Philip Bedford looked into the faces of each other.

They wrung hands in the darkness that followed the lightning flash, and, after the Anglo-Saxon fashion, said brief, inconsequential words. Yet the hearts of the two were full, and both Bill Breakstone, who had done the last miracle, and Hans Arenberg were moved deeply.

"Your letter came, John," said Phil simply, "and we are here. These are the best friends I ever had or that anybody ever could have. The man who brought you out of the castle was Bill Breakstone, and the one with me is Hans Arenberg. Without them I never could have reached you in the castle."

"You talk too much, young sir," said Bill Breakstone.

Then John suddenly remembered.

"Mr. Breakstone is wounded," he exclaimed. "We took off most of our clothes to swim the moat and I remember seeing a red spot on his side."

"Like your brother, you talk too much," said Bill Breakstone. "It seems to be a family failing with the Bedfords. It's a mere scratch."

"No harm iss done where none iss meant," said Arenberg sententiously.

"It iss also well for us soon to be away from where we now are."

"That is true," said Breakstone. "The Mexicans undoubtedly will make some sort of a search and pursuit, though I don't think they'll carry it far on such a night. Come on boys, I'll lead, and the reunited family will bring up the rear. But no talking is best. You can't tell what we might stir up."

He led the way, and the others followed in silence. They crossed a valley, reached a mountain slope and began to climb. Up they went for at least two hours, pausing at times for John to take breath and rest.

Meanwhile the storm continued, with cold rain, an alternate groaning and whistling of the wind through the valley, deep rumblings of thunder, and now and then a bright flare of lightning. John caught only one other glimpse of the huge, ominous bulk of the Castle of Montevideo, but it was far below him now. He knew, too, that it was impossible for anybody to follow a mountain trail in such darkness and storm. But, despite his great joy, he was feeling an exceeding weariness of the body. The long confinement had told heavily, but he would utter no complaint.

A half hour more, and they turned into a deep cove which led three or four hundred yards into the Sierra. At its end stood a small cabin, built of logs and almost hidden under the overhang of the cliff.

"Welcome to our home, Sir John," said Bill Breakstone, "we have no t.i.tle to it, and it probably belonged to some Mexican sheep herder or hunter, but since our arrival none has appeared to claim it."

He threw open the door, and all went inside into the dry dark. John heard the door close behind him, a bar fell into place, and then the striking of a match came to his ear. A little blue flame appeared and grew. Arenberg, who had struck the match, lighted a pine torch, which he stuck at an angle in a hole in the wall, and a fine red flame lighted up the whole interior of the little cabin. Cabin! It was no cabin to John Bedford. It was a gorgeous palace, the finest that he had ever seen, and he was surrounded by the most devoted and daring friends that man ever had. Had they not just proved it?

The little torch disclosed a hard earthen floor, upon which the skins of wild animals had been spread, log walls with wooden hooks and pins inserted here and there, evidently within recent days, a strong board roof, rafters from which skins and some tools hung, a fireplace with a stone hearth, and four narrow skin couches, three of which had been often occupied, the fourth never. Outside, the wind still wailed, and the cold rain still beat upon the logs, but here it was warm, dry, and light. The greatness of it all suddenly overwhelmed John, and he sank forward in a faint.

Phil instantly seized his brother and raised him up, but Breakstone and Arenberg told him not to be alarmed, that it was merely the collapse of a weakened frame after tremendous tension, both physical and mental.

Breakstone brought water in a gourd from a pail that stood in the corner, and soon John sat up again, very much ashamed of himself, and offering many apologies, at all of which the others laughed.

"Considering all you've been through to-night," said Bill Breakstone, "it's a wonder that you held out so long. I wouldn't have believed that you could do it, if I hadn't known your brother so well. Good thing I learned to be an actor. I was always strong in those Spanish parts.

Wide hat brim, big black cloak coming up to meet the hat brim, terrible sword at my thigh, and terrible frown behind the cloak and the hat brim.

Now, Hans, I think you can light the fire on the hearth there. No chance that anybody will see the smoke on a night like this, and there's no reason why we shouldn't dry our clothes and have a gay party. We've carried through our great adventure, and we'll just royster over it awhile."

Arenberg, without another word, took down the pine torch from its hole in the wall and ignited the heap of dry pine boughs that lay in the fireplace. They caught at once, crackled, and blazed pleasantly. Warm red shadows were soon cast across the floor, and a generous heat reached them all. They basked in it, and turned about and about, drying all their clothing and driving the last sign of chill from their bones.

Arenberg also made coffee over the coals, and cooked venison, which they had in abundance. When John ate and drank in plenty, he felt that life did not have much more to offer. He sat on one of the skins, leaned comfortably against the wall, and contemplated his younger brother.

"You have grown a lot, Phil," he said.

"You didn't expect him to stand still, just because you were away locked up in a castle?" asked Bill Breakstone. "He had to grow up, so he could come and rescue you. Such tasks are too big for little children."

John Bedford smiled indulgently.

"It was certainly a big job," he said. "I am the one who ought to appreciate most its size and danger. It was a big thing to get through Texas even. Of course I learned while I was a prisoner in the castle that the Mexicans had retaken it. It made me feel mighty bad for a long time."

Phil and Bill Breakstone looked at each other. Arenberg pushed one of the pine-knots back into the fire. For a little while there was silence. Then Breakstone said: