"Not a head along the wall far or near."
"They have drawn in their sentries," said Zagal, a quick-eyed, nimble half-breed, "or they have fallen back under the verandah for protection. It's quite right of them. I would not put a dog out this weather."
"Bah," returned the captain, eager to believe the coast was clear of sharpshooters, and well defended by his waterproof, "war dogs should disregard the rain. As I cannot leap my horse over those pikes, suppose you find the gate."
The Mayo had already groped along the corral, and unexpectedly the gate was opened by him. With a few strokes of his knife he had cut the rawhide thongs that served as fastenings and were relaxed by the wet.
"Let two of you stay here," said Pedrillo, before following the others through.
Then he pushed his horse between the main post and the gate held half open by Diego.
He and his three trusty rogues were before the house, which loomed up large at the end of the long, wide enclosure.
The thunder was dying away, and the swishing of the rain in the puddles and against the palisades seemed lessening in intensity. Certainly, the sentries were removed, and the building was silent as a mausoleum.
Nevertheless, they durst not directly cross the open spaces, but skirted the stockade until they could move forward in the cover of outbuildings which favoured a zigzag advance.
In this manner they attained a brick wall, where Diego halted them with his uplifted hand.