“I’ve said it. I’m good as sure they’re Apaches,” repeats the gambusino, more impressively. “And it would be madness, sheer insanity, to await them here. We must up to the mesa.”
“But will we be safe there?”
“As in a citadel. No fortress ever contrived, or made by hand of man, is strong as the Cerro Perdido. Twenty men could hold it against as many hundreds—ay, thousands. Carramba! We may thank the Virgin for providing us with such a secure retreat; so handy, and just in the nick of time.”
“Then let us to it,” assents Don Estevan, after a brief consultation with his partner, who no longer opposes the step, though by it they may lose their all. “We’ll follow your advice, Señor Vicente; and you have our authority to order everything as it seems best to you.”
“I’ve only one order to give, your worships; that’s arriba! Up, all and everybody!”
Chapter Eight.
Tender Leave-Takings.
The excitement in the camp, already at full height, now changes to a quick, confused hurrying to and fro, accompanied by cries of many kinds. Here and there is heard the terrified scream of a woman, who, babe in arms, fancies the spear of a savage pointed at her breast, to impale herself and offspring.