That all danger was past—that in a few hours we should be free—was the full belief both of my companion and myself. Perhaps you may not comprehend from what data we drew so confident and comfortable a conclusion, though our reasoning was simple enough. We knew that Rube would reach the rancheria, and return with a rescue—that was all.
’Tis true we were not without some anxiety. The rangers might no longer be there?—the army might have marched?—perhaps the picket was withdrawn? Rube himself might be intercepted, or slain?
The last hypothesis gave us least concern. We had full trust in the trapper’s ability to penetrate to the American camp—to the enemy’s, if necessary. We had just been favoured with a specimen of his skill. Whether the army had advanced or not, Rube would reach it before morning, if he should have to steal a horse upon the way. He would soon find the rangers; and, even without orders, Holingsworth would lend him a few—half-a-dozen of them would be enough. In the worst view of the case, there were stragglers enough about the camp—odd birds, that could easily be enlisted for such a duty. We had scarcely a doubt that our comrade would come back with a rescue.
As to the time, we were left to conjectures. It might be before morning’s light—it might not be before late in the following day, or even the night after. But that was a consideration that now weighed lightly. We could hold our aerial fortress for a week—a month—ay, far longer, and against hundreds. We could not be assailed. With our rifles to guard the cliff, no storming-party could approach—no forlorn hope could scale our battlements!
But what of thirst and hunger, you will ask?
Ha! we dreaded not either. Fortune’s favours had fallen upon us in showers. Even on that lone summit, we found the means to assuage the one and satisfy the other!
In crossing the table-top, we stumbled upon huge echino-cacti, that grew over the ground like ant-hills or gigantic bee-hives. They were the mamillaria of Quackenboss—dome-shaped, and some of them ten feet in diameter.
Garey’s knife was out in a trice; a portion of the spinous coat of the largest was stripped off, its top truncated, and a bowl scooped in the soft succulent mass. In another minute we had assuaged our thirst from this vegetable fountain of the Desert.
With similar facility were we enabled to gratify the kindred appetite. As I had conjectured, on viewing them from the plain, the trees of light-green foliage were “piñons”—the “nut-pine” (Pinus edulis), of which there are several species in Northern Mexico, whose cones contain seeds edible and nutritious. A few handfuls of these we gathered, and hungered no more. They would have been better roasted, but at that moment we were contented to eat them raw.
No wonder, then, that with such a supply for the present, and such hopes for the future, we no longer dreaded the impotent fury of our foes.