At the end of seven days the army was still less than thirty miles from Tenochtitlan, though owing to their circuitous march they had traversed thrice that distance. From an absolute necessity for rest, the last two nights were spent in the same camp. During the intervening day, while the greater part of the army lay sleeping about its camp-fires, the indefatigable Huetzin led a strong party of his Tlascalans on an extended scout.
Next to the undaunted leader himself, the young Toltec was the encouraging spirit of this weary retreat. Since Marina's return to him, life had assumed its brightest aspect, and not all the sufferings of the march could depress him. He animated his own warriors by telling them that now was the time to show the white soldiers, by their patient endurance and cheerful bravery, of what stuff Tlascalan mountaineers were made. In obedience to this suggestion his followers marched, day after day, with elastic steps and proud bearing, scouted to right and left, scattered hovering bands of the enemy with brisk charges, and in fact saved their white allies from despair and destruction. At night, whether there was food to be eaten or not, the Tlascalan camp-fires were centres of merry groups, whose songs and laughter exercised a cheering influence upon the whole army.
For the white men Huetzin painted glowing pictures of the welcome they would receive in the "land of bread" (Tlascala), of the feasting that should be theirs, and of the rest and safety to be found behind its impregnable mountain walls. It is certain that these pictures lost none of their attractiveness through the interpretation of Marina. Like him whose words she translated, she was light-hearted and joyous in spite of all hardships. And why should she not be? Was not the whole army devoted to her? Had she not a loving mother, like other girls? Was not her father a Tlascalan warrior, and captain of a hundred men (for so Huetzin had made him)? Above all, though her hero spoke not of love, could she not read his heart through his eyes? What more of happiness could a maiden of Anahuac ask?
On the day of the army's resting Huetzin extended his scout as far as the pyramids of Teotihuacan, two colossal monuments erected by his long-ago Toltec ancestors. They were dedicated to the sun and moon, and were surrounded by a vast number of burial mounds, in which were laid to rest the most famous men of his race. These were symmetrically ranged beside avenues, all of which led to the pyramids, and the plain in which they stood was known to that day as "Micoatl," or Way of the Dead.
From the summit of the taller of the pyramids, on which in former ages stood a gigantic image of the sun, bearing a breast-plate of burnished gold that reflected the earliest beams of the great luminary, Huetzin caught a glad sight of the blue Tlascalan hills rising on the farther side of the plain. They promised shelter and plenty; but, between him and them, he saw something else that filled him with dismay.
At several different points of the wide-spread landscape, he could distinguish moving bodies of white-armored Aztec troops, all converging toward a common centre. After an hour of watching, he located this as being the village of Otampan, situated in the wide plain that must be crossed before the retreating army could reach the Tlascalan frontier. Here doubtless was the place selected by Cuitlahua for their destruction. With this melancholy news, and with but a scanty supply of provisions, Huetzin led his scouting party back to camp.
That night was one of deepest gloom and despondency. Even the Tlascalan warriors no longer maintained their show of cheerfulness. Many times during its hours of darkness mysterious voices came to them from the surrounding hill-tops, crying:
"Hasten on, ye enemies of the gods! You will soon find yourselves where you can no longer escape their awful vengeance!"
In the morning there was naught to do but move on. Save in Tlascala alone, there was no place in which they might hope for safety. As the feeble army gained the crest of the intervening sierra, and gazed past the Toltec pyramids into the vale of Otampan, they were greeted by such a sight as assured them that their last hour had indeed come. As far as the eye could reach, the plain was so covered with the white of cotton-mailed warriors, that it was like a vast field of snow. By order of Montezuma's successor the full war strength of the Aztec nation was there assembled for the final overthrow of the invaders. From the mighty host came a volume of sound like the murmur of a wind-swept sea, while the morning sunlight was reflected from acres of shining bucklers and a forest of tossing spears.
Even the stout heart of the Conqueror failed him in the presence of this multitude of enemies. Noting this, sturdy Sandoval said: "We can die but once, and 'twill be much pleasanter for us, though not so amusing for them, if we die as soldiers rather than as sacrifices. Besides, it is not wholly certain that our time for dying has yet come. We have fought against odds before."