The heat of the terra caliente, which the party had recently entered, began to change rapidly into the cold of the tierra fria, while a wreath of white fog round the summit of a neighbouring mountain indicated the approach of dawn. In the barrancas it was still dark night. Here and there appeared heaps of snow, which became more numerous as the climbers ascended, until at last the whole mountain was one field of ice. As the daylight increased, a mass of snow-covered mountain appeared upon the left, spreading out like a huge winding-sheet, while to the right a still loftier peak caught the first beams of the morning sun. But the beams were pale, and the tints grey; all around was mist and icy cold.
"Por Dios!" exclaimed Don Manuel; "Where is the Conde Carlos? Where are Alonzo, Cosmo?"
"Forward!" commanded a voice.
"I ask where is the Conde Carlos?" repeated the young nobleman, who remarked, to his horror, that the party, which had set out more than four hundred strong, now consisted only of seventy Indians and twenty or thirty dragoons. He had been unconscious, owing to the darkness and to his agitation of mind, of the separation that had taken place upon the plateau. No answer was vouchsafed to his question. They had arrived at the edge of a deep precipice, which stopped their further progress.
"Lassos!" cried the same voice as before.
One of the Indians fastened the end of his lasso round his own body, gave the ring at the other extremity to a comrade, and was lowered over the precipice. A second lasso was made fast to the ring of the first, a third, a fourth, a fifth were added in like manner, until the Indian had disappeared in the fog, and it was only known by his shout when he had found a footing. Another Indian, and another, followed in the same way, with as much safety and speed as if they had been so many cotton bales let down from the top floor of a warehouse.
"Vuestra Señoria," said one of the patriots to Don Manuel, pointing to this new kind of ladder, and making a sign to an Indian. The next moment the young nobleman also had vanished in the mist. Man followed man, and the last who went down gave each of the five guides a cigar, laid his finger on his lips, and hastened after his companions.
The descent thus strangely commenced, was continued for some time without incident, and the sun was just rising above the mountains, when the patriot detachment came in sight of a moderately deep barranca, along the side of which stood a rancho, or Indian village, composed of doorless and windowless huts, built of tree trunks, and thatched with palm leaves. Each of the humble dwellings was surrounded by its cactus hedge, enclosing an infinite variety of gorgeous tropical flowers, which offered a striking contrast with the adjacent poverty and filth. From the elevation on which the patriots stood, a chapel with snow-white walls, buried amidst centenary cypresses, was visible, as also some other buildings of various sizes, apparently belonging to an hacienda or plantation.
The party descended rapidly but cautiously towards the village, headed by a young Creole, who now, for the first time during their march, attracted Don Manuel's attention, and under whose unbuttoned frock-coat were visible the blue uniform and white facings of the patriots, and the insignia of a field-officer. The morning mass was just over, and the village alive with Indians—men, women, and children—who crowded round the detachment with joyous welcome and vociferous greetings.
In the midst of the bustle, the sound of voices was suddenly heard approaching the village from the opposite side, and presently the advanced guard of a corps of patriots came in sight. These were followed by several officers of distinguished appearance, clothed in rich staff uniforms, and amongst them the Conde Carlos. Then came the main body, numbering about five hundred men, all well armed and equipped. They were for the most part Indians, Metises, and Zambos from the southern provinces, powerful well-built fellows, who, in spite of their long march, came on with a light step and a proud glance. From time to time there was a shout of "Viva Vicénte Gueréro! Viva nuestro general!"