“We’ll all hope that, Mark.”
With pistols ready for use, we ranged up behind a heavy clump of trees and awaited the coming of the guard from San Luardo. I was on pins and needles, as the saying goes, and started up at the slightest sound. For this Burnham poked fun at me; yet he himself was on the alert, as I could see by the way he compressed his lips and worked at the ends of his mustache.
“Hark!” said Captain Guerez presently, and we all sat like statues and listened. From down the road came the tramp of a dozen or more horses and mules. The guard with the prisoners was advancing. The decisive moment was at hand. I swallowed a strange lump in my throat and grasped my pistol tighter. For my father’s sake I would fight to the bitter end.
From out of a cloud of dust rode a vidette, heavily armed and with his eyes and ears on the alert for anything which might sound or look suspicious. As he came nearer we drew back behind the trees, and Captain Guerez motioned us to absolute silence.
The vidette passed, and then the main body of the guard came on. There were three soldiers in front and three behind, and between rode two prisoners on mules, both whites and evidently Americans. I strained my eyes to their utmost, and soon distinguished my father’s familiar face and form.
My father! The sight thrilled me to the soul, and I had all I could do to restrain myself from riding forth to meet him. An exclamation came to my lips, but the hand of my chum checked it, while a look from him told plainer than words that he realized how I felt.
“Attention!” whispered Captain Guerez. “Are you all prepared to fight? I think these guards are raw recruits, and if so a few volleys will cause them to take to their heels.”
“I am ready,” I said grimly.
“And I,” added Alano.
“You can count on me,” put in Burnham.