Before he comes to himself the Rangers have ridden up, with Walt Wilder at their head. They proceed to make prisoners of the two men, neither of whom has been killed in the encounter.
Better for both if they had. For they are now in the hands of men who will surely doom them to a death less easy thar that they had escaped.
Their fate is inevitable.
Chapter Seventy Seven.
The Camp Transformed.
Another sun rises over the Llano Estacado, his beams gilding with ruddy glow the brown basaltic cliffs that enclose the valley of the Arroyo de Alamo.
On projecting points of these, above the spot chosen by Uraga for his camp, the black vultures are still perched. Though ’tis not their usual roosting-place, they have remained there all night, now and then giving utterance to their hoarse, guttural croaks, when some howling, predatory quadruped—coyote or puma—approaching too near, has startled them from their dozing slumbers. As the first rays of the sun rouse them to activity, their movements tell why they have stayed. No longer at rest, or only at intervals, they flit from rock to rock, and across the valley from cliff to cliff, at times swooping so low that their wings almost touch the topmost twigs of the trees growing upon the banks of the stream. All the while with necks astretch, and eyes glaring in hungry concupiscence. For below they perceive the materials of a repast—a grand, gluttonous feast—no longer in doubtful expectation, but now surely provided for them.
Ten men lie prostrate upon the sward; not asleep, as the vultures well know—nor yet reclining to rest themselves. Their attitudes are evidence against this. They lie with bodies bent and limbs stiff, some of them contorted to unnatural postures. Besides, on the grass-blades around are drops and gouts of blood, grown black during the night, looking as if it had rained ink; while little pools of the same are here and there seen, dull crimson and coagulated.