"I am coming to it. Every night for ten days past I have been at this spot at this hour, and every night I have either seen or heard a French sentry exactly opposite. To-night, however, there is a difference. At dusk we saw the Frenchman tramping up and down behind the trench, just out of range of your good English muskets, Señor; we heard the guard changed; but a few minutes ago, when I looked, I found that the sentry had disappeared. Perhaps my eyes are at fault. Will you look, Señor?"
Jack looked across the ravine. A pale half-moon was shining, as yet somewhat low in the sky, and the ravine and river-bed were gloomed by black shadows. The line of the entrenchments showed rugged against the background, in which watch-fires here and there marked the night bivouac of the French. From the far distance came faint and fitful noises; the gurgling wash of the river against its embankments made the only sound in the vicinity. Jack ran his eyes along the edge of the entrenchment for a hundred yards in each direction. Certainly no sentinel was in sight.
"Perhaps he is resting," he remarked. "There is no need for him to tramp up and down in sight all the time."
"True, Señor, but why to-night? Why on this night should we miss what we have seen without exception for many nights past?"
"It is certainly strange. I shouldn't think it implied any particular danger of an attack; should you?"
At this moment Pepito touched him on the arm.
"Something crawling, Señor!" he said.
He pointed across the river towards a spot in deep shadow half-way down the opposite slope. Jack looked in that direction, but failed to perceive any moving object.
"You are mistaken, Pepito," he said.
The gipsy was stretched now at full length on the wall, peering, with his hands arching his eyes, into the darkness.