n,' he said. 'I shall
have time to get her back and retreat before your Robles manages to
crawl up here.'

"He had sent for a gun to the plains.

"It was long in coming, but at last it came. It was a seven-pounder
field gun. Dismounted and lashed crosswise to two long poles, it had
been carried up the narrow paths between two mules with ease. His wild
cry of exultation at daybreak when he saw the gun escort emerge from the
valley rings in my ears now.

"But, senores, I have no words to depict his amazement, his fury, his
despair and distraction, when he heard that the animal loaded with the
gun-carriage had, during the last night march, somehow or other tumbled
down a precipice. He broke into menaces of death and torture against the
escort. I kept out of his way all that day, lying behind some bushes,
and wondering what he would do now. Retreat was left for him, but he
could not retreat.

"I saw below me his artillerist, Jorge, an old Spanish soldier, building
up a sort of structure with heaped-up saddles. The gun, ready loaded,
was lifted on to that, but in the act of firing the whole thing
collapsed and the shot flew high above the stockade.

"Nothing more was attempted. One of the ammunition mules had been lost,
too, and they had no more than six shots to fire; ample enough to batter
down the gate providing the gun was well laid. This was impossible
without it being properly mounted. There was no time nor means to
construct a carriage. Already every moment I expected to hear Robles'
bugle-calls echo amongst the crags.

"Peneleo, wandering about uneasily, draped in his skins, sat down for a
moment near me growling his usual tale.

"'Make an entrada--a hole. If make a hole, bueno. If not make a hole,
then vamos--we must go away.'

"After sunset I observed with surprise the Indians making preparations
as if for another assault. Their lines stood ranged in the shadows of
the mountains. On the plain in front of the fort gate I saw a group of
men swaying about in the same place.

"I walked down the ridge disregarded. The moonlight in the clear air
of the uplands was bright as day, but the intense shadows confused my
sight, and I could not make out what they were doing. I heard the voice
of Jorge, the artillerist, say in a queer, doubtful tone, 'It is loaded,
senor.'

"Then another voice in that group pronounced firmly the words, 'Bring
the riata here.' It was the voice of Gaspar Ruiz.

"A silence fell, in wh