“How many? Can you remember?”
“Six or seven, I think.”
“And a large pack-train?”
“Yes; the atajo seemed to number about fourscore mules.”
For a moment the Colonel is silent, seeming to reflect, then says:
“Villanueva would know how to throw these carros into corral, and with so many pack-saddles ought to make a defensible breastwork, to say nothing of the bales and boxes of goods. If not taken by surprise while en route, he’d be sure of using that precaution. So protected, and armed as they were, they ought to hold good their ground against any number of redskins. The worst danger would be their getting dropped on in some place without water. In that case surrender would be the necessary result, and surrender to Apaches were as death itself.”
“Santissima! yes—we all know that. But, Requeñes, do you really think we’ve to fear their having met such a disaster?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’d fain not fear it, but the thing looks grave, no matter in what way one views it. There should have been word from them several days ago; none coming, what other can be the explanation?”
“Ay, true; what other?” rejoins the ganadero, despondently. “But what ought we to do?” he adds.
“I’ve been considering that for some time, but couldn’t make up my mind. I’ve made it up now.”