In due time their front files come together, near the central part of the sextant; though the rear ones are still invisible;—how many of these no one knows, save approximately. Enough, however, are already in sight to make a formidable array, and put all thought of conflict with them out of the question. The miners but congratulate themselves on their fortune in finding that secure place of retreat, which will enable them to shun it. Grateful are they to their guide for making it known—and they have reason. If within their late camp instead of where they now are, the hours of their life would be numbered—perhaps to count only minutes. At the best they could but save bare life for a time, but nothing to comfort or sustain it.
All this they have come to comprehend thoroughly as they continue to watch the movements of the Coyoteros, and see the cordon these have drawn around them. But for some minutes there is no movement at all, the bands after uniting having come to a halt, the files making quarter-wheel, so as to face the Cerro—all done as by trained cavalry on a parade-ground! And for a while they stay halted, the change of front giving their alignment a thinner look. But at the central point is a thicker clump, without military formation, on which Don Estevan directs his telescope. To see half a dozen of the mounted savages face to face with one another, earnestly, excitedly gesticulating. After a look through it, he tenders the glass to the gambusino, who may better understand what they are about.
“El Cascabel and his sub-chiefs in consultation,” pronounces the latter, soon as sighting them. “It’s plain they’re puzzled by seeing wagons where never were such before. Like as not they think we’re soldados, and that makes them cautious. But they’ll soon know different. Por Dios! they know it now. They’re coming on!”
Chapter Eleven.
A Camp without Occupants.
The gambusino has guessed everything aright, if words spoken in the confidence of knowledge can be called guesses. True they prove, to the spirit as the letter; for it is just that unaccustomed spectacle of wheeled vehicles with their white canvas covers that caused the Indians to keep their deploying line so far aloof, and bring it to a halt for deliberation. Notwithstanding their being masters of all that desert country, lords of the llanos, they themselves do not always traverse it without difficulties to encounter and dangers to dread. The wagons proclaim the camp occupied by white men; and knowing these to be ordinary travellers, miners on the move, or commerciantes on a trading expedition to the frontier towns, the Coyoteros would little regard them—certainly not enough to have made that long détour with so much delay in approaching them. But it may be a military encampment; and if so, will need to be dealt with differently—hence their unwonted caution.
Soon as the two bands became conjoined, El Cascabel had summoned his sub-chiefs around him, to take their opinions upon this point. For among Indians the head chief is not armed with despotic authority, but must submit his intended course of action to the approval of his following, even when on the maraud. And as the gambusino rightly conjectured, this it was which occupied them at that temporary halt.
A question without difficulty, and soon decided. In the negative as regarded the camp being occupied by soldiers. Were it so, men in uniform would be observable around it; whereas none such are seen. Nor human form of any kind; only animals—horses, and mules, with horned cattle commingled—all careering madly about as if masterless, or escaped from their masters’ control.