Fast as the little beasts traveled, however, their pace appeared like an insect’s crawl when measured by Gordon’s fears. Action, at first, brought relief. Later he fell again a prey to anguish. The threat of the revolutionists filled him with horror through which, as in a dreadful nightmare, he saw Lee struggling frantically. Of Ramon he never even thought. It was always the men. Yet he managed to hold himself in hand; refrained from lashing the mule into the furious pace that would, while killing it, have still lagged far behind his fears.
And he had always at his side the arriero, with his repeated, “Do not trouble, señor; they will keep traveling till dark!” to cheer him.
The latter’s sharp glance it was that picked out the sign where the revolutionists had swung on to the San Carlos trail. His hawk eyes found, just before sundown, dust rising like yellow smoke on the opposite hills. When darkness covered the tossing earth with its solemn veil it was he, again, that saw the first flare when the revolutionists’ fire blossomed like a red rose in the black heart of a valley. Lastly, it was his knowledge of the country that made it possible for them, after tying the mules at a safe distance, to crawl up until, gently shoving the bushes aside, Gordon looked out and saw under the red light of the fire the revolutionists at their gambling and Lee seated beside Ramon.
“One to me, little one,” Ilarian’s bellow just then rang out. “Be not impatient. Soon we shall take a little pasear together.”
At the sight of Ramon, the arriero’s brows had gone up under the roots of his hair, for, had he wished it, Gordon’s Spanish would not have permitted a full explanation. Now he touched Gordon, pointing. Nodding, he nipped off a few leaves, then leveled the long Colt, aiming at the nearest man. A glance to his right showed him the arriero slowly shoving his rifle-barrel through the leaves. Then, turning again to his aim, he was just in time to see Lee slash Ramon’s bonds.
The next instant the latter sprang for the rifles. Lee was up and standing almost in line with the man he had covered. He dared not shoot, and in the next five seconds, before they could readjust themselves to the rapid change, the situation had flashed into its final stage—Ramon had fallen with one revolutionist; the others were rushing at Lee across the firelit space.
By that time Gordon had risen. As, standing, he fired from the edge of the wood a second man fell forward upon his face. The arriero’s rifle cracked sharply, and there remained only Ilarian. Swinging with Lee, still in his arms, he faced Gordon charging across the firelit space.
Usually Gordon could be depended upon to keep his head. But Lee’s bitter cry, the sight of her helplessness, combined with the awful strain of the afternoon, produced in him a berserker rage. Teeth bared in a snarl, his gun completely forgotten, he seized Ilarian with his naked hands just as he dropped Lee; threw him with such violence that his feet rose in the air and he struck shoulders first on the ground. Then, without even a second glance, he lifted and gathered Lee in his arms.
Fortunately, the arriero not only kept his wits, but was working them overtime. As, rolling over, Ilarian pulled and pointed his gun the arriero’s second bullet plumped between his shoulders.
It is doubtful whether Gordon heard the shot. His face in Lee’s hair, hers hidden in his breast, they remained without looking around even when the arriero spoke.