“Coyoteros; and of this very band. El Cascabel’s not like to have forgotten that; and will now make us innocent people pay for it. Ay de mi!”
With this final exclamation, uttered in a tone of deep despondence, the Mexican relapses into silence. But only for a few seconds longer, to look through the telescope. He has seen enough to know all which can be known, and too truly conjectures what is likely to ensue.
The party of Indians, led by El Cascabel, is again moving onward, and a sweep of the glass around to the north-west shows the other party making to turn the mountain on its western side. The gambusino can count them now; sees that they number over two hundred, enough to put all hope of a successful encounter with them out of the question. As for retreat, it is too late for that. Surrounded are the luckless miners, or soon will be; besieged on the summit of a mountain as within the walls of a fortress, and as far removed from any chance of succour as castaways on a desert isle in mid-ocean.
Chapter Ten.
An Enfilading Line.
The “stone artillery” has been got together; a huge pile of it, forming at the same time protecting parapet and battery of guns; the men have desisted from their work, and having nothing more to do, at least for a time, stand listening for the signals. They know that such have been arranged, without having been told their exact bearing.
But they are soon to learn it; almost instantly after hearing a shot, and then quick succeeding it another, as the discharges from a double-barrelled gun.
“The Indians coming on, and near!” says Don Estevan, interpreting to those around. “We may look to see them soon yonder.”