"Ah, I see," said the stranger. "That would certainly tempt any man to ask questions, but, remembering what I told you, you did not ask them. You are of the true metal.
"Though in prison he lay,
His spirit was strong,
He sought a better day,
And now it's come along.
At least it's a better night, which, for the uses of poetry, is the same as day. This stairway, John, leads into the great inner court, and then our troubles begin, although we ought to return thanks all the rest of our days for the rain and the heavy darkness. The Mexican officers will see no reason why they shouldn't remain under shelter, and the Mexican soldiers, in this case, will be glad enough to do as their officers do."
John now followed his guide with absolute faith. The man spoke more queerly than anybody else that he had ever heard, but everything that he did or said inspired confidence.
They came to the bottom of the stairway and reached the great paved central court, with the buildings of the officers scattered here and there. They stepped into the court, and John fairly shrank within himself when the cold rain lashed into his face. He did not know until then how three years within massive walls had softened and weakened him. But he held himself erect and tautened his nerves, resolved that his comrade should not see that he had shivered.
They saw lights shining from the windows of some of the low buildings, but no human being was visible within the square.
"They've all sought cover," said his rescuer, "and now is our best chance to get through one of the gates. After that there are other walls and ditches to be passed, but, Sir John of the Night, the Wall, the Rain, and the Moat, we'll pass them. This little plan of ours has been too well laid to go astray. Just the same, you keep that pistol handy."
John drew the serape about his thin body. It was useful for other things than disguise. Without it the cold would have struck him to the bone. His rescuer led the way across the court until they came to one of the great gates in the wall. The sentinel then was pacing back and forth, his musket on his shoulder, and at intervals he called: "Sentinela alerte!" that his comrades at other gates might hear, and out of the wind and rain came at intervals, though faintly, the responding cry, "Sentinela alerte!" John and the stranger were almost upon this man when the cry "Sentinela alerte!" came from the next gate. He turned quickly as the two dark figures emerged from the darker gloom, but the stranger, with extraordinary dexterity, threw his serape over his face, checking any cry, while his powerful hands choked him into insensibility. At the same time the stranger uttered the answering cry, "Sentinela alerte!"
"You haven't killed him?" exclaimed John, aghast, as his rescuer let the Mexican slide to the wet earth.
"Not at all," replied this resourceful man. "The cold rain will bring him back to his senses in five minutes and in ten minutes he will be as well as ever, but in ten minutes we should play our hand, if we ever play it."