With what strange reflections must that spectacle inspire him! The outstretched arms lying helpless along the earth—the claw-like fingers now stiff and nerveless—he may be thinking how they once clutched a cowhide, vigorously laying it on his own back, leaving those terrible scars.
“Come, Jupe!” says Clancy, rousing him from his reverie; “we must mount, and be off.”
Soon they are in their saddles, ready to start; but stay yet a little longer. For something has to be considered. It is necessary for them to make sure about their route. They must take precautions against getting strayed, as also another and still greater danger. Jupiter’s escape from the robbers’ den, with the deed that facilitated it, will by this have been discovered. It is more than probable he will be pursued; indeed almost certain. And the pursuers will come that way; at any moment they may appear.
This is the dark side of the picture presented to Clancy’s imagination, as he turns his eyes towards the west. Facing in the opposite direction his fancy summons up one brighter. For there lies the San Saba Mission-house, within whose walls he will find Helen Armstrong. He has now no doubt that she has reached home in safety; knows, too, that her father still lives. For the mulatto has learnt as much from the outlaws. While en route to Coyote Creek, and during his sojourn there, he overheard them speak about the massacre of the slaves, as also the immunity extended to their masters, with the reason for it. It is glad tidings to Clancy, His betrothed, restored to her father’s arms, will not the less affectionately open her own to receive him. The long night of their sorrowing has passed; the morn of their joy comes; its daylight is already dawning. He will have a welcome, sweet as ever met man.
“What’s that out yonner?” exclaims Jupiter, pointing west.
Clancy’s rapture is interrupted—his bright dream dissipated—suddenly, as when a cloud drifts over the disc of the sun.
And it is the sun which causes the change, or rather the reflection of its rays from something seen afar off, over the plain. Several points sparkle, appearing and disappearing through a semi-opaque mass, whose dun colour shows it to be dust.
Experienced in prairie-sign he can interpret this; and does easily, but with a heaviness at his heart. The things that sparkle are guns, pistols, knives, belt-buckles, bitts, and stirrups; while that through which they intermittingly shine is the stoor tossed up by the hooves of horses. It is a body of mounted men in march across the steppe.
Continuing to scan the dust-cloud, he perceives inside it a darker nucleus, evidently horses and men, though he is unable to trace the individual forms, or make out their number. No mattes for that; there is enough to identify them without. They are coming from the side of the Colorado—from Coyote Creek. Beyond doubt the desperadoes!