While making these judicious reflections, the gambusino had completed the maiden's Indian toilet. He perfected the disguise by throwing a zarapé over her shoulders; then giving a parting glance round his domicile, he put in his pocket a pack of cards accidentally left on the table, drank a large glass of spirits, and left the room, followed by Doña Clara and the monk, who, in spite of the varying incidents of the last few days had regained all his good humour, doubtless owing to the good company in which he was, and the game of monte—that inveterate passion in every Mexican.
Doña Clara was placed on a horse; Andrés and the monk also mounted, and leaving the house to the problemical care of Providence, the gambusino gave the signal for departure. He made a wide circuit, to avoid passing through the Presidio, and then started at a gallop in the direction of the Cerro Prieto.
Red Cedar had lost no time, and all was ready for departure. The newcomers did not even dismount, but so soon as they were sighted, the caravan, composed, as we have stated of some hundred and twenty resolute men, after forming in Indian file, started in the direction of the prairies, having first prudently detached two scouts to watch the neighbourhood.
Nothing is so mournful as a night march in an unknown country, covered with snares of every description, when you fear least the ever-watchful enemy may pounce on you from every bush. Thus, the gambusinos, restless, and starting at the slightest rustling of the leaves, advanced silently and gloomily, with their eyes fixed on the clumps that grew along the wayside, rifle in hand, ready to fire at the slightest suspicious movement. They marched, however, for upwards of three hours, and nothing happened to justify their fears; a solemn calmness continued to prevail around them. Gradually these apprehensions were dissipated; they began talking in a suppressed voice, and laughing at their past terrors, when they reached, on the banks of the Del Norte, the vado, or Ford del Toro.
In the interior of Southern America, and specially in New Mexico, a country still almost entirely unknown, the means of communication are nil, and consequently bridges may be looked for in vain. There are only two methods of crossing even the widest rivers—looking for a ford, or, if you are in a great hurry, forcing your horse into the oft-times rapid current, and trying to reach the other bank by swimming.
The squatter had selected the first method, and in a few minutes the whole party was in the water. Although the ground of the ford was uneven, and at times the horses were up to their chests, and compelled to swim, the gambusinos managed to get across safely. The only persons left on the bank were Red Cedar, Eagle-wing, the guide, Doña Clara, and Andrés Garote.
"It is our turn now, Heart of Stone," the squatter said, addressing Eagle-wing; "you see that our men are in safety, and only await us to set out again."
"The squaw first," the Indian replied, laconically.
"That is true, chief," the squatter said, and, turning to the prisoner, "Go across," he said to her, coarsely.
The maiden, not deigning to answer, boldly made her horse enter the river, and the three men followed. The night was dark, the sky covered with clouds, and the moon, constantly veiled, only shone forth at lengthened intervals, which rendered the passage difficult and even dangerous, as it did not allow objects to be distinguished, even at a distance. Still, after a few seconds, Red Cedar fancied he saw that Doña Clara's horse was not following the line traced by the ford, but was turning to the left, as if carried away by the current. He pushed his horse forward, to assure himself of the reality of the fact; but suddenly a vigorous hand seized his right leg, and before he could even think of resisting, he was hurled back into the water, and his throat seized by an Indian. Andrés Garote hurried to his assistance.