Chapter 11 - Page 2

the mountain.' He amazed
me by adding, with an effort: 'I carried her off in my two arms while
the earth trembled. And the child at least is mine. She at least is
mine!'

"Those were bizarre words; but I had no time for wonder.

"'You shall go with me;' he said violently. 'I may want to parley,
and any other messenger from Ruiz, the outlaw, would have his throat
cut.'

"This was true enough. Between him and the rest of incensed mankind
there could be no communication, according to the customs of honour-
able warfare.

"In less than half an hour we were in the saddle, flying wildly
through the night. He had only an escort of twenty men at his
quarters, but would not wait for more. He sent, however, messengers to
Peneleo, the Indian chief then ranging in the foothills, directing him
to bring his warriors to the uplands and meet him at the lake called
the Eye of Water, near whose shores the frontier fort of Pequena was
built.

"We crossed the lowlands with that untired rapidity of movement which
had made Gaspar Ruiz' raids so famous. We followed the lower valleys
up to their precipitous heads. The ride was not without its dangers. A
cornice road on a perpendicular wall of basalt wound itself around a
buttressing rock, and at last we emerged from the gloom of a deep
gorge upon the upland of Peeña.

"It was a plain of green wiry grass and thin flowering bushes; but
high above our heads patches of snow hung in the folds and crevices of
the great walls of rock. The little lake was as round as a staring
eye. The garrison of the fort were just driving in their small herd of
cattle when we appeared. Then the great wooden gates swung to, and
that four-square enclosure of broad blackened stakes pointed at the
top and barely hiding the grass roofs of the huts inside, seemed
deserted, empty, without a single soul.

"But when summoned to surrender, by a man who at Gaspar Ruiz' order
rode fearlessly forward, those inside answered by a volley which
rolled him and his horse over. I heard Ruiz by my side grind his
teeth. 'It does not matter,' he said. 'Now you go.'

"Torn and faded as its rags were, the vestiges of my uniform were
recognised, and I was allowed to approach within speaking distance;
and then I had to wait, because a voice clamouring through a loophole
with joy and astonishment would not allow me to place a word. It was
the voice of Major Pajol, an old friend. He, like my other comrades,
had thought me killed a long time ago.

"'Put spurs to your horse, man!' he yelled, in the greatest excitement;
'we will swing the gate open for you.'

"I let the reins fall out of my hand and shook my head. 'I