The besieged were not the only ones who knew of their coming. Outside of the walls of the fort, the Miranha band had understood Will's shout when he first saw the distant horsemen. They too had heard the hoofbeats, which sounded louder and nearer every minute, and, although the path up the precipice could be seen only from the fort, yet from without the besiegers could hear the clink of steel against the rocks and the murmur of the voices of the climbing men. Just before the rescue-party reached the fort, Jud's quick ear caught the sound of muttered commands, the quick patter of feet, and through a loop-hole he saw a black band hurrying toward the other entrance to the city, carrying with them the bodies of their dead and wounded comrades.
Even as he looked there was a shout, and into the little fortress burst the rescue-party, headed by Hen, and Joe. In another minute they swarmed through the streets of the city; but the enemy was gone. At the foot of the other path the last of them were even then slipping into the darkening valley.
Of all the band, alive or dead, one only had been left behind. Just outside the thick wall of the fort lay a huge motionless form. As Jud and Professor Ditson approached it they recognized Scar Dawson, deserted by the men whom he had so recently led. As they came close they saw that he lay helpless. Only his staring eyes were fixed upon them with an expression of awful appeal; yet there seemed to be no wound any where on his great body. As they bent over him, Pinto pointed silently to a tiny red spot showing at the front of the outlaw's right shoulder—the mark made by one of the Indian's fatal little arrows. Jud stared sternly down at the helpless man.
"You've only got what was comin' to you," he said. "You'd have tortured every one of us to death if you could," he went on but there was an uncertain note in his voice. "He's a bad actor if ever there was one," he blustered, turning to the others. "Still, though, I'd hate to see any man die without tryin' to help him," he finished weakly.
"He deserves death if any man ever did," said Professor Ditson grimly; "yet it does not seem right to let a man die without help."
"Yes," chimed in Will, looking down at the dying man pityingly; "do save him if you can."
The professor hesitated.
"Well," he said at last, "I can and I will; but I am not at all sure that I ought."
Beckoning to one of the vaqueros, he took from his pouch a handful of the brown salt that is part of the equipment of every South American cattle-man. Reaching down, he forced open the stiffening jaws of the outlaw and pressed between them a mass of salt until Dawson's mouth was completely filled with it.
"Swallow that as fast as you can," he commanded.