All stay awake till morning, listening to every sound below, and doing what they can to interpret it. They had heard the cries near the Indian camp as Henry Tresillian attempted to pass it, those by the ravine’s head hearing them plainer. Then other cries, as in response, proceeding from the western side of the lake.
After that a moment of silence, succeeded by a plunging noise, as of a horse making his way through deep water. And soon after shouts again, for a while continuous, terminating in hoof-strokes, at each instant less distinct, at length dying away in the distance.
But just then they upon the cliff had to listen to other sounds more concerning themselves. For it was at this time their presence became known to the party remaining behind, resulting in that hurried ascent from ledge to ledge, with the loss of one of their number.
Long after, they see that which renews their excitement, their thoughts in a conflict between hope and fear. From the vidette post, around which they have all gathered, they behold a moving mass, in the early dawn distinguishable as men on horseback. It is the party who went in pursuit of their messenger returning. But whether they have him with them or no cannot be told; for they come back in a thick clump, and he may be in its midst invisible. Nor is it opened out till they pass behind the abutment of rock, disappearing from the view of those on the mesa.
By the besieged ones the day is passed with anxiety unrelieved. For, although several had hastily proceeded to a point from which a sight of the Indian camp could be obtained, it was yet too dark to see whether the pursuers had brought back a prisoner. And when daylight came, he might be there without their being able to see him—inside the marquee, or under one of the wagons.
Gradually, however, their hopes gain the ascendant; for nothing of Crusader can be seen, and the noble steed, if there, could not well be hidden away. Besides, there is no more setting up of that ensanguined stake, no more firing at a human target, as would likely have taken place had the pale-faced courier been their captive. Instead, a certain restlessness, with signs of apprehension, is observed among themselves throughout all the day, almost proclaiming his escape.
In Don Estevan’s tent it is discussed, and this conclusion come to, giving joy to all. But to none as to his own daughter. All day a prey to keen, heart-sickening anxiety, how glad is she at hearing the gambusino say:
“I’m sure the señorito has got safe away, and is now on the road to Arispe. Were it not so, we’d have seen him ere this—tied to that accursed stake and riddled with bullets, as the others. The brutes meant doing the same with me; had almost begun it, when, thanks to the Virgin, there came a slip between cup and lip. And I think we may thank her now for giving a like chance to the brave lad. Santos Dios! he deserves it.”
Cheering words to Gertrude, who can scarce resist rushing up to the speaker and giving him a kiss for them. Chaste kiss it would be, for the gambusino is neither young nor handsome. She contents herself by saying:
“Oh, sir! if he get safe to Arispe, you shall be paid for your saddle ten times over. I’m sure father will not grudge that.”