“Well, perhaps so—and on this very night I may especially appear a bird of ill omen, for I cannot help feeling the presentiment that there is danger near us. See! look yonder! The animals have left off eating—both mules and horses. Observe how they stand listening, as if they heard something. Well, what is to come will come; and I have not much to lose—even my life is not worth much.”
And with this consolatory speech the old shepherd wrapped himself up in his cloak and lay down to sleep.
Not so Baraja. The words of his comrade had produced their effect, and he was unable to compose himself to rest. His imagination depicted to him a thousand phantoms, and every moment he fancied he could hear the yells of the savages, as they rushed forward to attack the camp. Not that the ex-haciendado was altogether a coward; but there was reason for his fears; and the darkness of the night, as well as the strange behaviour of the animals, was sufficient cause to render even a brave man apprehensive of danger.
After the long day’s march, all the adventurers were asleep—stretched here and there upon the ground. The sentinels alone were awake, and watching—now and then raising along the lines their monotonous cry of “Sentinela alerte!” It was the only sound that for a long time interrupted the silence of the night.
After remaining awake for a considerable time, Baraja began to feel confidence, and perhaps would have gone to sleep, like the others, when all at once he heard several shots, similar to those that had been heard during the day, and which appeared to proceed from the same direction.
“They are still firing over there,” said he, nudging the old herdsman so as to awake him.
“No matter,” grumbled Benito; “let them fire away. If it be not Cuchillo or Gayferos, we needn’t care. So, friend Baraja, I wish you good-night—go to sleep yourself. In the desert, time for sleep is precious, although at any minute you may be sent to sleep in eternity—Good-night!”
After this terrifying speech, the ex-herdsman drew his cloak over his eyes to keep out the rays of the moon, when a noise made by the mules caused him to raise his head again, “Ah!” said he, “the red devils are not far off.”
The neigh of a horse was now heard from a distance, accompanied by a cry of alarm, and the next moment a man was seen riding up at full gallop.
“It is Cuchillo,” cried the servant; then, in a low voice, to Baraja, “Let the travellers take care when the will-o’-the-wisp dances on the plain!”