"To mark the place of this gate," said the salteador, "two of you remain here."
"Good," said Diego, who pushed the gate shut, whereupon so neatly was it contrived that, particularly in such absence of light, the joining place of the edges was not perceptible.
"Deuce take you—what's that for?" cried the robber, suspiciously.
"Not to arouse observations if a keen eye follows the line of the fences," replied the Mayo. "Your men plainly denote the spot, if we must retreat."
"That is true," rejoined the valiant captain, but not in a tone of assurance, whilst his men looked downhearted at one another, and enviously at the couple left behind.
However, with the Apaches at hand, a retreat without striking a blow would probably have caused a dispute which would have imperilled their unholy alliance; and had as the prospect was, at least the Mexicans might show a fellow countryman quarter, while the Indians would surely not spare the turncoat whites.
After all, so far the smoothness of the entry promised fairly, and to have to do with twenty gentlewomen was no formidable matter.
"On!" said he, impatiently, twitching up his wooden leg so that it seemed to point the way.
They crossed the enclosure, and reached the second wall without a challenge, over a ground eight inches deep in water, in the depressions caused by horses' hoofs, and rude cartwheels.
Diego scrambled up the pickets like a cat. He almost instantly dropped down, and said, in an ordinary tone—