er 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; amply 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,
them 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
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 as bright as day, but the intense shadows confused my
sight, and I could not make out what they were doing. I heard voice
Jorge, artillerist, say in a queer, doubtful tone, 'It is loaded,
senores.'

"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 which the popping shots of the besieged garrison
rang out sharply. They too had observed the group. But the distance
was too great, and in the spatter of spent musket-balls cutting up the
ground, the group opened, closed, swayed, giving me a glimpse of busy
stooping figures in its midst. I drew nearer, doubting whether this was
a weird vision, a suggestive and insensate dream.

"A strangely stifled voice commanded, 'Haul the hitches tighter.'

"'Si, senor,' several other voices answered in tones of awed alacrity.

"Then the stifled voice said: 'Like this. I must be free to breathe.'

"Then there was a concerned noise of many men together. 'Help him up,
hombres. Steady