“Hermano mio, (brother),
“If Heaven permit this to reach your hands, ’twill tell you how we are situated—in extreme peril, I grieve to say, surrounded by Apache Indians, the most hostile and cruel of all—the Coyoteros. Where and how I need not specify. The brave boy who bears this, if successful in putting it into your hands, will give you all details. When you’ve got them, I know how you will act, and that no appeal from me is necessary. On you alone depends our safety—our lives. Without your help we are lost.
“Estevan Villanueva.”
“They shall not be lost,” cries the Colonel, greatly agitated—“not one of them, if the Zacatecas Lancers can save them. I go to their aid; will start at once. Away, Cecilio! down to the cuartel! Bring Major Garcia back with you immediately. Now, señorito,” he adds, turning to Henry Tresillian, “the details. Tell us all. But, first, where are our friends in such peril? In what place are they surrounded?”
“In a place strange enough, Señor Colonel,” answers the young Englishman. “On the top of a mountain.”
“On the top of a mountain!” echoes the Colonel. “A strange situation, indeed. What sort of mountain?”
“One standing alone on the llanos, out of sight of any other, ’Tis known as the Cerro Perdido.”
“Ah! I’ve heard of it.”
“I too,” says the ganadero.
“Up somewhere near the sources of the Horcasitas. A singular eminence—a mesa, I believe. But how came they to go there? It must be some way off the route to their intended destination.”