"They are going to kill us! to kill us!" pierced the air laden with smoke of battle and the odor of blood. "O, save us! Save us! Have pity on us! Take us home! Mother in Heaven! O, save us!"
Goaded to frenzy by these cries, Carmelita's peons flooded across the intervening space and fell on Stanislaus, who abandoned to their fate the sortie detail he had thrown forward. With such men as he could muster he sped, with the peonas, out of the cañon into the broken country edging Calaveras Valley. Here his people seemed to scatter. Hoof-tracks led aimlessly to every quarter of the compass.
To solve the riddle the hacienda peons ran over the ground and nosed it like hounds. No one could tell in which direction to go in succor of the peonas.
From his saddle old Enrico peered at the signs which to the ordinary observer indicated that Stanislaus and his people had come in compact body to this spot, then, under centrifugal impulse, had departed hither and yon.
In his observings the man moved a little away from Carmelita, then returned.
"Señorita doña, I'm proud of the boys; they're all right—that onslaught—line lasted them about as long as a box of mice would a dozen terriers—but they can't read a trail."
"Then, you be eyes for us, Enrico," pleaded Carmelita. "Soon the sun leaves, and search to-morrow will be useless."
Enrico dismounted, slowly crawled on knees and hands, examining the ground minutely. He descended into a swiftly running stream, and studied the rocky bed through the clear water. Finally, he crept up the other side and limped away into the forest.
It seemed an age before he came back. Long shadows, forerunners of approaching night, were measuring the hills beyond. At last he was in sight, exultation lighting his face and hastening his uncertain steps.
"Señorita doña," he exclaimed, "Stanislaus is near here, on foot, and consequently at our mercy."