“Dear husband,” here interposes the señora, “you seem to forget my brother, Juliano, and his three hundred peones. At least half of them are brave fellows, a match for any savages as these who surround us. If Henrique succeed in reaching Arispe, he will go on to my brother’s hacienda, soldiers or no soldiers.”
This speech from an unexpected quarter further heightens their hopes, already rapidly rising. They almost feel as if the siege was being raised, and themselves about to continue their long-delayed journey.
A like sentiment pervades the people all through the camp. In every shed and booth is a group conversing on the same topic, and much in a similar way; all with trusting reliance on the friends left behind, confident they will not fail them.
At this self-same hour the feeling in the Coyotero camp is quite the contrary: instead of confidence, there is doubt, even apprehension. The white men’s messenger—for they are sure he must have been this—has got through their lines, clear away, and well do they comprehend the consequences.
They know the miners come from Arispe—marks on the wagons and other chattels tell them that—and the paleface courier will be now hastening thither. On such a swift steed he will reach it in quick time; and, with the tale which he has to tell, alike quick will be the response: a rescuing host in rush for Nauchampa-tepetl. It may even arrive before the return of their raiders from the Horcasitas.
Thus apprehensive, on the day and night following the escape of Henry Tresillian, and for many days and nights after, there is as much, if not more, anxiety in the camp of the besiegers as in that of the besieged.
The latter fear but famine; the former, fire and sword.