This was my reflection; and without staying to consider what advantage we should derive from such a proceeding. I communicated the discovery to my companions.
Both appeared delighted; and after a short scrutiny declared the path practicable. Garey believed he could easily go up; and Rube in his terse way said, that his “jeints wa’nt so stiff yit;” only a month ago he had “clomd a wuss-lukin bluff than it.”
But now the reflection occurred, to what purpose should we make the ascent? We could not escape in that way! There was no chance of our being able to descend upon the other side, for there the cliff was impracticable. The behaviour of the guerrilleros had given proof of this. Some time before, Ijurra, with another, had gone to the rear of the mound, evidently to reconnoitre it, in hopes of being able to assail us from behind. But they had returned and their gestures betokened their disappointment.
Why, then, should we ascend, if we could not also descend on the opposite side?
True, upon the summit we should be perfectly safe from an attack of the guerrilla, but not from thirst, and this was the enemy we now dreaded. Water would not be found on the top of the mesa. It could not better our situation to go there; on the contrary, we should be in a worse “fix” than ever.
So said Garey. Where we were, we had our horses—a spare one to eat when that became necessary, and the others to aid us in our attempt to escape. Should we climb the cliff, these must be left behind. From the top was less than fifty yards, and our rifles would still cover them from the clutch of our enemies, but to what advantage? Like ourselves, they must in time fall before thirst and hunger.
The gleam of hope died within us, as suddenly as it had sprung up.
It could in no wise serve us to scale the cliff: we were better in our present position; we could hold that so long as thirst would allow us. We could not do more within the granite walls of an impregnable fortress.
This was the conclusion at which Garey and I had simultaneously arrived.
Rube had not yet expressed himself. The old man was standing with both hands clutching his long rifle, the butt of which rested upon the ground. He held the piece near the muzzle, partially leaning upon it, while he appeared gazing intently into the barrel. This was one of his “ways” when endeavouring to unravel a knotty question; and Garey and I knowing this peculiarity on the part of the old trapper, remained silent—leaving him to the free development of his “instincts.”