The Rescuers en Route.
“Son! that’s the Lost Mountain, is it?”
“It is, Colonel.”
“Gracias a Dios! Glad we’ve sighted it at last. How far do you think we’re from it, señorito? Nigh twenty miles, I take it; though it looks nearer.”
“’Tis all of twenty miles, Colonel; so our guide said when we first saw it from the place.”
“I can quite believe it. On these high plains distances are very deceptive; but my experience enables me to judge pretty correctly.”
The dialogue is between Colonel Requeñes and Henry Tresillian; the latter acting as guide to the expedition en route to release those imprisoned on the Cerro Perdido. Others are beside them; Don Juliano with his son, the young aide-de-camp, and several officers of the staff; their escort forming an advanced guard. Not far behind it, the howitzer battery, followed by the lancer regiment in open order; then Romero’s irregulars, closed by a troop of lancers as rear-guard, completing the marching column.
All are at halt, brought to it as soon as the Cerro was sighted. They have been on march from an early hour by moonlight, and as the sun, now rising, has lit up the plain afar, the solitary eminence can be clearly seen. As may be deduced from the young Englishman’s words, the point they have arrived at is the same where the caravan had temporarily come to a stop—the very spot itself; for close by is the tree bearing the initials of the gambusino.
“Well, caballeros,” continues the Colonel, “we’ve done our best so far; pray God to good purpose. Let us hope we’re in time. I wonder how it is? What’s your thought, Romero?”
“I have none, Requeñes—only hopes that they’ve held out.”