We passed into the porch in the rear, and approached the stairway.
“Let us go below—can you see any light?”
I stooped and looked down. I could neither hear nor see any signs of life. I turned, and was gazing up at my friend in wonderment, when my eye was attracted by a strange movement upon the low branches of the olive-trees. The next moment a dozen forms dropped to the ground; and, before we could draw sword or pistol, myself and comrade were bound hand and foot and flung upon our backs.
At the same instant we heard a scuffle down by the pond. Two or three shots were fired; and a few minutes after a crowd of men came up, bringing with them Chane, Lincoln, and Raoul as prisoners.
We were all dragged out into the open ground in front of the rancho, where our horses were also brought and picketed.
Here we lay upon our backs, a dozen guerilleros remaining to guard us. The others went back among the olives, where we could hear them laughing, talking, and yelling. We could see nothing of their movements, as we were tightly bound, and as helpless as if under the influence of nightmare.
As we lay, Lincoln was a little in front of me. I could perceive that they had doubly bound him in consequence of the fierce resistance he had made. He had killed one of the guerilleros. He was banded and strapped all over, like a mummy, and he lay gnashing his teeth and foaming with fury. Raoul and the Irishman appeared to take things more easily, or rather more recklessly.
“I wonder if they are going to hang us to-night, or keep us till morning? What do you think, Chane?” asked the Frenchman, laughing as he spoke.
“Be the crass! they’ll lose no time—ye may depind on that same. There’s not an ounce av tinder mercy in their black hearts; yez may swear till that, from the way this eel-skin cuts.”
“I wonder, Murt,” said Raoul, speaking from sheer recklessness, “if Saint Patrick couldn’t help us a bit. You have him round your neck, haven’t you?”