“I wish,” pursues the Colonel, in half soliloquy, “we but knew for certain; ’twould make an important difference as to how I dispose of my force. Should they be still there—”
“Señor Colonel,” interposes the youthful guide, “if you’ll let me have a look through your telescope, I think I can settle that point.”
This, as he sees the commanding officer drawing his field-glass from its case.
“In welcome, señorito. Here!” and he hands him the telescope.
Instantly it is brought to his eye, and eagerly—his fingers trembling as they hold it out. What he hopes to see will tell him that his father and friends still live; if he sees it not, he will know they are dead; and she, dearer than all, condemned to a fate far worse!
What a change comes over his countenance almost on the instant of his raising the glass to his eye! Hitherto grave to apprehension, all at once it lights joyously up, as from his lips proceed the words, “They’re still on the mountain; Heaven be praised!”
“If it be so, Heaven deserves praise—all our thanks. But how know you, señorito?”
“By the flag!”
“What flag?”
“Take the glass, Colonel; look for yourself.”