"That's more like it!" said Harris. "Now the blanket. Give me a boost, corporal," and with that, supported by the strong arm of one of the soldiers, he stepped upon the nearest rock, the blanket in his left hand. Briggs grabbed the opposite corner with his right, and the next moment a woollen curtain swung flat between the fires.
"Now, Briggs, up!" and the hidden red eye was suddenly unmasked and glared out over the east. "Down!" and all toward the opposite fire was darkness again. Twice more was it raised and lowered. Then a five seconds' pause. Then twice again. "Thirty-two," said Harris. "'Tonio's old signal. Now watch for the answers!" From those at a distance there came no sign. The flare at each was steady. From the nearmost, almost instantly, came the desired response. It suddenly disappeared, and Harris, at second intervals, counted low, "One, two, three." Then came the red glow again, just a moment. Then darkness only for two seconds. Then light again. "It is 'Tonio," said he, "and that's his call to me. Now, Briggs, again! Slowly this time!"
And very slowly was the blanket raised and lowered twice. Then came two or three quicker movements. Then the blaze spoke untrammelled, and all eyes were on 'Tonio's torch, and they who had heard ill of him—had doubted him—found themselves oddly drawn to him across the intervening miles of darkness. Twice, thrice slowly his light, too, was curtained. Then for a moment it burned clearer; then seemed suddenly to sputter out. Within a few seconds, far more swiftly than it rose, the signal fire vanished from sight, and Harris stepped quietly down. "That's all," said he, yet the doctor, at least, could read the suppressed exultation in his tone. Then, seeing inquiry and disappointment, both, in the eager eyes about him, the young officer added, "He understands. He's coming, or sending, in."
"Did you promise him safe conduct?" asked Bentley.
"He did not ask it," was the answer.
Two hours later, once more safe at the post, the doctor had stowed his weary patient in bed, renewed the dressing and bandages, and was bidding him try to sleep, but Harris smiled. "You'll need me to translate," said he. "The general's message to Turner is being written now. Let us finish this while we're about it."
Sure enough. Toward half-past one the sentries on Numbers Six and Seven set up a shout for the corporal of the guard, and an Indian girl, trembling a bit, was led to the office, and half the garrison knew that word was in from 'Tonio. The general took his messenger kindly by the hand. Food and chocolate were in readiness at the Mess, but she shook her head. "Capitan Chiquito," she insisted, and then was conducted up the line, and, shrinking not a little, was led into the doctor's quarters. There, at sight of Harris, she instantly stepped to his bedside, knelt, and taking his weary hand, placed it on her head. He whom 'Tonio held in reverence, his followers could but blindly obey.
To his question in her own tongue, "Where is 'Tonio?" she answered, "Toward the moon, now two hands high. When it is straight above Pancha can reach him again." "Is 'Tonio well?" "'Tonio is well, but—others brought Pancha. They say they are afraid that soldiers shoot. They await Pancha's returning."
Evidently, despite the kindness in every face, the girl still feared the white man and wished to be gone. "He has sent her, general," said Harris. "Whatever you wish to send now to Turner will go through, if 'Tonio is not killed in the attempt."
And so, with unexpected burden of food and gifts and with a brief despatch to Turner, bidding him hasten with his entire force, the dusky, fleet-footed daughter of the mountain was led back to the stream, went bounding lightly across from stone to stone, and disappeared among the shadows toward the east.