The Lost Mountain: A Tale of Sonora

And now they draw nearer till all upon the mesa, without any artificial aid, can see they are men, and as such surely friends hastening to their rescue.

To their joy they also perceive that the occupants of the Indian camp are as yet unaware of what is approaching. Five hundred feet below, their view is more limited; and long before the soldiers become visible to them, they above see the latter distinctly, and understand their strategic scheme.

Meanwhile the savages are not acting in the ordinary way: signs of commotion are observable among them, as if some change were intended. Horses are being caught and caparisoned, while the newly acquired animals from the Horcasitas are again loaded with the spoils, those that carried the captives being also made ready for the road.

The women are themselves seen within the corral; as on the evening before, looking forlorn, every one of them a picture of despair. They are to be taken they know not whither, but to a place from which they have no hope of return. Little dream they that friends are so near.

“What a pity we can’t let them know of rescue being at hand!” says Don Estevan. “They could hear us if we call to them, but some of the Coyoteros are acquainted with our language, and it would warn them also.”

“No fear of that,” affirms the gambusino; “I think I can speak a tongue that the redskins won’t understand, and the women will.”

“What tongue?” asks Don Estevan.

“The Opata. Some of those girls are mestizas, and should know the lingo of their mothers.”

“Try them with it, then, Don Pedro.”

“With your worship’s leave, I will.”

Saying which, the gambusino advances to the outermost edge of the cliff, and, with all the strength of his lungs, utters some words altogether unintelligible to those around him, but evidently understood by the captives below.

Several of them on hearing it spring suddenly to their feet, looking up in the direction whence it came, surprised to see men above, hitherto unobserved by them, and still more to hear speech addressed to themselves. Hope and joy become mingled with their astonishment, when the gambusino goes on in the same vernacular to tell them how it is, and that succour is near.

Though listening all the while, not one of the Apaches appears to comprehend a word of what Vicente is saying. They suppose it a mere expression of sympathy; and, without giving heed to it, proceed with their preparations for departure. They are evidently bent upon this, though it may be but the raiders about to continue on to their home in Apacheria. Still, other signs seem to indicate a general clearing out of the camp; for now the whole caballada of horses are being brought in saddled and bridled, while everything portable in the way of goods is turned out within the corral, packed as if for transportation.

And in reality it is their intention to abandon both camp and siege, though reluctantly, and hating to surrender a chance of revenge that had seemed so sure and near. But they have had enough to content them for the time, and there is a fear which forces them to forego it. Ever since Henry Tresillian escaped them they have been nervously apprehensive, correctly surmising him a messenger. He must long since have reached Arispe, and may at any moment reappear, guiding back a force sufficient to overwhelm them.

While yet unrecovered from their night’s carousal, it is as the fulfilment of a dream, their worst apprehensions realised, as they behold coming towards them, though still far off, a body of men, uniformed and in serried array, with pennoned lances borne aloft!

The sight is not so much a surprise, neither does it produce a panic; for they who approach seem not in such numbers as to overawe them. The detached parties sent around are not within their view, and with their habitual contempt for the Mexican soldados, they make light of those that are, imagining them under a mistake – advancing upon an enemy whose strength they have underrated.

The error is their own; but, misled by it, they resolve to ride out, meet the pale-faced foemen, and anticipate their attack. Their chief so commands it.

Quick as thought every warrior is upon his horse, gun or spear in hand; they, too, in military formation – line of battle – pressing forward to the encounter, the sentries alone left on post.

Chapter Thirty Three.

The Thunder Guns

As is their custom, the savages advance with loud cries and gestures of menace, intended to terrify their antagonists.

They have got several miles out from the mountain, and almost within charging distance, when they see that which brings them to sudden halt – a thing above all others dreaded by the American aboriginal – cannon “thunder guns” – as they call them. The brass howitzers, hitherto screened by the vanguard of cavalry, have been thrown to the front, instantly unlimbered, and so brought under their eyes. Then a flash, a vomiting of flame and smoke, a loud ringing report, followed by the hurtling of a shell in its flight through the air. It drops in their midst and instantly explodes, its severed fragments dealing death around.

Too much this for Coyotero courage; and without waiting for other like destructive missiles to follow, they turn tail and gallop back towards the camp. Not that they have any hope of safety there, for they believe the great thunder guns can reach them anywhere, and their flight towards it is but the impulse of a confused fear.

The sentries, seeing them in retreat, alike frightened by the report of the howitzers, forsake their posts, each hastening towards a horse – his own.

For a time the captive women are unguarded, seemingly forgotten. It gives the gambusino a cue; and, acting upon it, he again calls out as before in the Opata tongue,

“Sisters! now’s your time! Up and out of the corral; make round to the lake, fast as you can run, and on into the ravine. There you’ll find friends to meet you.”

Listening to his counsel, as one the captive women resolve to act upon it; for they are now cognisant of what is going on, and fully comprehend the situation.

The result, a rush out of the enclosure all together, and a race round to the spot indicated by that friendly voice above.

They reach it, to find there the man himself, with over two-score others around him. For the gambusino, seeing how things stood, and that the besiegers had their hands full elsewhere, has hurried down the gorge, all the fighting men of the miners’ party along with him.

It is but a moment to place the escaped captives behind the rocks standing thick all around; then, screening themselves by the same, they await the coming of the savages. But these come not; enough have they to do looking out for their own safety. The howitzers, now near, are belching forth their bombs, that burst here and there, dealing death in their ranks.

With the redskins it is no longer a question of resistance or fight, but flight, sauve qui peut. And without thought of taking along with them either spoils or captives, they deem it enough if they can but save their own lives.

They are all on horseback now, their chief at their head, who in loud command calls upon them to follow him – not to the charge, but in retreat.

First they flee northward; but short is their ride in that direction. Scarce have they commenced it, when they see in front of them a body of horse, seemingly numerous as that they are retreating from.

Shall they meet it, or turn back? The thunder guns are still more than a mile from the abandoned camp, and they will have time to repass it.

Promptly deciding to do so, they wheel round and gallop back, ventre à terre; not slowing pace nor drawing rein till they have reached the western elbow of the lake. Then only coming to a stop perforce at sight of still another party of palefaces there to confront them.

Intercepted, threatened on every side by a far superior force, they now know themselves in a trap. Panic stricken, they would surrender and cry for quarter, but well are they aware it would not be given. So, as wolves brought to bay, they at length determine on fighting – to the death.

For many of them, death it is. Beset on all sides, in the midst of a circle of fire, bombs exploding and bullets raining through their ranks, they make but a despairing resistance; which ends in half their number being killed and the other half taken prisoner.

The rescuers are now in possession of the camp, animals, everything. But the first to reach the bottom of the ravine is he who has guided them thither, Henry Tresillian; there to receive a shower of thanks and blessings, his father pressing him to his bosom, which alike beats with joy and pride. And the gambusino embraces him, too, crying out,

“I see you’ve brought back my saddle, señorito; and after the service it has done, I hope you’ll never consent to part with it. Bridle and saddle both, I make you a present of them; which I trust you’ll do me the honour to accept.”

This draws the attention of all upon Crusader standing by, who in turn becomes the recipient of an ovation.

But his young master stays not to witness it. Up on the summit is one who occupies all his thoughts, claiming him now; and up bounds he with lighter heart than he ever before made that ascent.

“Henrique!”

“Gertrudes!” are the exchanged exclamations of the youthful lovers, as they become locked in each other’s arms, their lips meeting in a kiss of rapturous joy.

All congratulations over, the corralled wagons are once more in possession of their owners. Scarce any damage has been done to the mining machinery or tools; the Indians, from neglect or ignorance of their uses, not having thought it worth while to destroy them. And for the animals and chattels they had carried off, there is ample compensation in those now taken from them – enough to furnish the wagons with fresh teams, re-establish the pack-train, in short, put the caravan in order for resuming the march. Which it does, after a couple of days spent in getting things into condition for the route, when it continues on to its original destination, the gambusino still with it as guide.

On the same day Requeñes starts out on return to Arispe, taking the Coyotero prisoners along with him; while Don Juliano and his valiant vaqueros charge themselves with the task of restoring the women of Nacomori to their homes.

When all are gone, and the Lost Mountain again left to tranquillity and solitude, it is for days the scene of a spectacle telling of the terrible strife which had occurred. The wolves and coyotes have gathered from afar, and over the bodies of the slain savages left unburied, with those of their horses killed in the encounter, hold riot and revel.

There, too, are the black vultures, some in the air, some on the ground, in flocks so thick as to darken both earth and sky. They anticipated a plenteous repast – they have not been disappointed.

Chapter Thirty Four.

At the Altar

The last scene of our tale lies in the pueblita of Santa Gertrudes; a mining village chiefly supported by the minera bearing the same name, whose works, with the specialities of crushing-sheds, smelting-houses, and tall chimneys, are seen just outside its suburbs.