Presently the light discovered them to us. Two there were. They were on horseback, moving on the plain below, and close into the cliff. We saw them distinctly, but we saw not what we had expected—the mangled body of our comrade! The gleam, long continued, had given us full time to scrutinise the ground. We could have distinguished upon it any object as large as a cat. Rube, living or dead, was certainly not there!
Had he fallen into the hands of the guerrilla? The two we saw carried lances, but no prisoner. It was not likely they had captured him: besides, we knew that Rube, unless badly crippled, would never have surrendered without a struggle; and neither shot not shout had been heard.
We were soon relieved from all uneasiness on this score. The brigands continued their conversation, and the light breeze wafted their voices upwards, so that we could distinguish part of what was said.
“Carrambo!” exclaimed one impatiently; “you must have been mistaken? It was the coyote you heard.”
“Capitan! I am confident it was a man’s voice.”
“Then it must have proceeded from one of the picaros behind the rock. There is no one out here? But come! let us return by the other side of the mesa—vamos!”
The hoof-strokes admonished us that they were passing onward to carry out the design of the last speaker—who was no other than Ijurra himself.
It was a relief to know that our comrade had not yet fallen into their clutches. How far he was injured, we could not have an idea. The rope had given way close to the top, and Rube had carried most of it down with him. In the confusion, we had not noticed how much remained, behind our hands, when he fell; and now we could only guess.
Seeing that he had disappeared from the spot, we were in high hope that he had sustained no serious injury.
But whither had he gone? Had he but crawled away, and was yet in the neighbourhood of the mesa? If so, they might still light upon him. Hiding-place there was none, either by the base of the cliff or on the surrounding plain.