And a glance from those bright eyes--I protest, I saw them glisten in the darkness of the starlit night!--told me that he had heard and understood. Told me, also, that he was ready. After that--after those whispered words of mine, that responsive glance of his--we sat as still as statues on our steeds, hardly allowing our breath to issue from our lungs--watching--watching those figures.
God! would they never separate? Would not some depart and the others retire into the cabin and shut the door against the cold wintry night? Offer us the opportunity to make one turn of the wrist on our reins, give one pressure of our knees to the animals' flanks and dash up the remains of the ascent and past the hut ere those within could rush out and send a bullet after us from fusil, gun or musketoon?
At last they gave signs of parting--we heard the buenas noches and the adiós issuing from those Spanish throats; we saw two of the men--their forms blurred and magnified in the outstreaming rays of the lamp--clasp each other's hands; we knew that they were saying farewell to one another. And then--curse the buffoon!--and then, when they had even parted and two had turned toward the door to re-enter, and the others had taken their first steps upon the road forward--then, I say, one of these latter turned back, made signs to all the others, and, when he had fixed their attention, began to dance and caper about in the road, imitating for the benefit of his friends, as I supposed, some dance or dancer he had lately seen.
From the lips of my doubtless high-strung companion there came a long-drawn breath; almost I could have sworn I heard the soft murmur of a smothered Spanish oath; and then once more those whom we watched parted from each other--the buffoonery was over, the imitation, if it was such, finished. Again, with laughs and jokes, they broke up and separated.
"Our chance is at hand, at last!" I whispered.
Was it?
The others--those going away--had disappeared round a bend of both rock and road; the two left behind were retiring into their house when, suddenly, the last one stopped, paused a moment, put up his hand to his head as though endeavouring to recall something, then put out his other hand, seemed to grasp a lantern from inside the door, and, slowly, began a moment later to descend the road where we sat our steeds.
And now we were discovered beyond all doubt; in a moment or so he would perceive us; another, and he would challenge us; would shout back to his comrade in the hut--perhaps call loud enough to attract the attention of his departing friends. We should be shot down, our horses probably hamstrung, we brought to earth, prisoners or dead.
"Swords out!" I said to Juan, "and advance. Quick, put your horse to the canter at once; ride past him--over him if need be."
A moment later and we had flashed by the astonished man, the jennet that bore Juan springing up the hill like a cat, my own bony but muscular steed alongside; behind us we heard his roars; an instant after the ping of a bullet whistled by my ears, fired at us by the other one in the hut as we advanced; another moment and he was out in the road, endeavouring to swing a wooden gate, that hung on hinges attached to the cabin, across the road. Also, which was worst of all, we heard answering calls from the men who had gone on ahead--tramplings and shouts--we knew that they were coming back to help.