Neither the Colonel nor the man Jack moved an inch after taking their places. I almost envied them their capacity to sleep, so gentle and profound was their oblivion to the world and all its cares. To me this refreshing luxury was denied. My fate seemed to hang upon a thread. I could not feel any confidence in these men. They might become suspicious at any moment, and murder me as I lay helpless before them. For over two hours I watched them; they never moved. The probable fact was, they had made up their minds not to molest me, in view of the large sum of money I expected to collect at San Luis. My course seemed clear enough. But here was the difficulty. I could do nothing without my papers. Nor was I content to lose my mule, saddle, and blankets, which I knew to be in their possession.
The tall man, Griff, was restless, and turned repeatedly, moaning in his sleep, "God have pity on me! Oh God, have pity on me!"
It was a sad sight to behold him. No mortal eye could fathom the sufferings that thus moved him. Truly,
"The mind that broods o'er guilty woes
Is like a scorpion girt by fire."
At length—it must have been about an hour before day—he arose, looked cautiously around, and, seeing all quiet, beckoned to me, and stealthily left the camp. On his way out he gathered up my blanket, saddle, and coat in his arms, and looked back to see if I had taken the hint. I lost no time in slipping from my covering, and following his receding figure. It was a trying moment. I expected to see the other two men rise, and held my pistol ready for defense. In a few minutes we were beyond immediate danger of discovery.
"Now," said Griff—"now is your time. Here is your mule. Mount him and be off! They will undertake to pursue you as soon as they discover your absence; but I shall loose the riatas, and it will take them some time to catch the horses. You will find your papers on the trail as soon as you strike the plain. Get to San Miguel, and you are safe. They dare not go there; but don't stop on the way."
While he was talking Griff fixed my saddle and pack on the mule, and I mounted without loss of time. What could I do to reward this noble fellow? In the hurry of the moment I handed him my watch.
"Friend," said I, "you have done me an inestimable service. Take this trifle as a keepsake, and with it my best thanks. You and I may never meet again."
"No, it is not likely we shall," said Griff, sadly. "Our ways are different. Keep your watch; I can't accept it. All I ask of you is not to judge me harshly. Good-by!"