The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista by Joseph A. Altsheler
CHAPTER XVII
THE THREAD, THE KEY, AND THE DAGGER
When John Bedford rose the next morning he was several years younger.He held himself erect, as became his youth, a little color had creptinto the pallid face, and his heart was still full of hope. He had seenthe light that Catarina had promised. Surely the world was making agreat change for him, and he reasoned again that, his present statebeing so low, any possible change must be for the better.
But the day passed and nothing happened. Diego, the slouching soldier,brought him his food, and, bearing in mind the vague words of Catarina,he noticed it carefully while he ate. There was nothing unusual. Itwas the same at his supper. The rosy cloud in which his hopes swamfaded somewhat, but he was still hopeful. No light had been promised forthe second night, but he watched for long hours, nevertheless, and hecould not restrain a sense of disappointment when he turned away.
A second day passed without event, and a third, and then a fourth. JohnBedford was overcome by a terrible depression. Catarina was old andfoolish, or perhaps she, too, had shown at last the cunning and trickerythat he began to ascribe to all these people. He would stay in thatcell all his life, fairly buried alive. A fierce, unreasoning angertook hold of him. He would have flared out at stolid Diego who broughtthe food, but he did not want those heavy chains put back on his ankles.His head was now healed enough for the removal of the bandage, but a redstreak would remain for some time under the hair. Doubtless the hairhad saved him from a fracture of the skull. Every time he put his handto the wound, which was often, his anger against de Armijo rose. It wasthat cold, silent anger which is the most terrible and lasting of all.
Although he was back in the depths, John felt that the brief spell ofhope had been of help to him. His wound had healed more rapidly, and hewas sure that he was physically stronger. Yet the black depressionremained. It was even painful for him to look through the slit at hispiece of the slope, which he sometimes called his mountain garden. Heavoided it, as a place of hope that had failed. On the sixth day, Diegobrought him his dinner a little after the dinner hour. He was sittingon the edge of his cot and he bit into a tamale. His teeth encounteredsomething tough and fibrous, and he was about to throw it down indisgust. Then the words of Catarina, those words which he had begun todespise, came suddenly back to him. He put the tamale down and began toeat a tortilla, keeping his eye on Diego, who slouched by the wall inthe attitude of a Mexican of the lower classes, that lazy, dreamingattitude that they can maintain, for hours.
Presently Diego glanced at the loophole, and in an instant John whippedthe tamale off the plate and thrust it under the cover of the cot. Thenhe went on calmly with his eating, and drank the usual amount of badcoffee. Diego, who had noticed nothing, took the empty tray and wentout, carefully locking the heavy door behind him. Then John Bedford didsomething that showed his wonderful power of self-restraint. He did notrush to the bed, eager to read what the tamale might contain, butstrolled to the loophole and looked out for at least a quarter of anhour. He did not wish any trick to be played upon him by a suddenreturn of Diego. Yet he was quivering in every nerve with impatience.
When he felt that he was safe, he returned to the cot and took out thetamale. He carefully pulled it open, and in the middle he found thetough, fibrous substance that his teeth had met. He had half expected apaper of some kind, rolled closely together, that the writing might notperish, and what he really did find caused a disappointment so keen thathe uttered a low cry of pain.
He held it up in his hand. It was nothing more than a small package ofthread, such as might have been put in a thimble. What could it mean?Of what possible use was a coil of fifty yards or so of thread thatwould not sustain the weight of half a pound? Was he to escape throughthe loophole on that as a rope? He looked at the loophole four inchesbroad, and then at the tiny thread, and it seemed to him such a pitifuljoke that he sat down on the cot and laughed, not at the joke itself,but at any one who was foolish enough to perpetrate such a thing.
He tested the thread. It was stronger than he had thought. Then he putit on his knee, took his head in his two hands, and sat staring at thethread for a long time, concentrating his thoughts and trying to evolvesomething from this riddle. It did mean something. No one would go toso much trouble to play a miserable joke on a helpless captive likehimself. Catarina certainly would not do it, and she had given him thehint about the food, a hint that had come true. He kept his mind uponthe one point so steadily and with so much force that his brain grewhot, and the wound, so nearly cured, began to ache again. Yet he keptat it, studying out every possible twist and turn of the riddle. Atlast he tested the thread again. It was undeniably strong, and then helooked at the loophole. Only one guess savored of possibility. He musthang the thread out of the loophole.
He ate the rest of the tamale, hid the little package under hisclothing, and at night, after supper, when the darkness was heavy, hethrew the end of the thread through the long slot, a cast in which hedid not succeed until about the twelfth attempt. Then he let the threaddrop down. He knew about how many feet it was to the pavement below,and he let out enough with three or four yards for good count. Then hefound that he had several yards left, which he tied around one of theiron bars at the edge of the loophole. It was a black thread, and,although some one might see it by daylight, there was not one chance ina thousand that any one would see it at night.
"Fishing," he said to himself, as he lay down on his cot, intending tosleep awhile, but to draw in the thread before the day came. It mightbe an idle guess, he could not even know that the thread was notclinging to the stone wall, instead of reaching the ground, but therewas relief in action, in trying something. He fell asleep finally, andwhen he awoke he sprang in an instant to the floor. The fear came withhis waking senses that he might have slept too long, and that it wasbroad daylight. The fear was false. It was still night, with only themoon shining at the loophole. But he judged that most of the night hadpassed, and his impatience told him that if anything was going to happenit had happened already. He went to the window. His thread was there,tied to the bar and, like a fisherman, he began to pull it in. He feltthis simile himself. "Drawing in the line," he murmured. "Now I wonderif I have got a bite."
Although he spoke lightly to himself, as if a calm man would soothe anexcitable one, he felt the cold chill that runs down one's spine inmoments of intense excitement. The moonlight was good, and he watchedthe black thread come in, inch by inch, while the hand that drew ittrembled. But he soon saw that there was no weight at the other end,and down his heart went again into the blackest depths of black despair.Nevertheless, he continued to pull on the thread, and, as it emergedfrom the darkness into the far end of the loophole, he thought he sawsomething tied on the end, although he was not sure, it looked so smalland dim. Here he paused and leaned against the wall, because hesuddenly felt weak in both mind and body. These alternations betweenhope and despair were shattering to one who had been confined so longbetween four walls. The very strength of his desire for it might makehim see something at the end of the thread when nothing was reallythere.
He recovered himself and pulled in the thread, and now hope surged up ina full tide. Something was on the end of the thread. It was a littlepiece of paper not more than an inch long, rolled closely and tiedtightly around the center with the thread. He drew up his stool and satdown on it by the loophole, where the moonlight fell. Then he carefullypicked loose the knot and unrolled the paper. The light was goodenough, and he read these amazing words:
"Don't give up hope. Your brother is here. He received your letter. Put out the thread Again to-morrow night. Read and destroy this."
John leaned against the wall. His surprise and joy were so great thathe was overpowered. He realized now that his hope had merely been aforlorn one, an effort of the will against spontaneous despair. And yetthe miracle had been
But it was true. His letter had gone through, and the brave young boywhom he had left behind had come. He was somewhere about the Castle ofMontevideo, and since such wonders had been achieved already, otherscould be done. From that moment John Bedford never despaired. Afterreading the letter many times, he tore it into minute fragments, and,lest they should be seen below and create suspicion, he ate them all andwith a good appetite. Then he rolled up the thread, put it next to hisbody, and, for the first time in many nights, slept so soundly that hedid not awake until Diego brought him his breakfast. Then he ate with aremarkable appetite, and after Diego had gone he began to walk up anddown the cell with vigorous steps. He also did many other things whichan observer, had one been possible, would have thought strange.
John not only walked back and forth in his cell, but he went through asmany exercises as his lack of gymnastic equipment permitted, and hecontinued his work at least an hour. He wished to get back his strengthas much as possible for some great test that he felt sure was coming.If he were to escape with the help of Phil and unknown others, he mustbe strong and active. A weakling would have a poor chance, no matterhow numerous his friends. He had maintained this form of exercise for along period after his imprisonment, but lately he had become so muchdepressed that he had discontinued it.
He felt so good that he chaffed Diego when he came back with his food atdinner and supper. Diego had long been a source of wonder to John. Itwas evident that he breathed and walked, because John had seen him doboth, and he could speak, because at rare intervals John had heard himutter a word or two, but this power of speech seemed to be merelyspasmodic. Now, while John bantered him, he was as stolid as any woodenimage of Aztecs or Toltecs, although John spoke in Spanish, which, badas it was, Diego could understand.
He devoted the last hours of the afternoon to watching his distantgarden. It had always been a pleasant landscape to him, but now it wasfriendlier than ever. That was a fine cactus, and it was a noble forestof dwarf pine or cedar--he wished he did know which. An hour after thedark had fully come he let the thread out again.
"This beats any other fishing I ever did," he murmured. "Well, it oughtto. It's fishing for one's life."
He was calmer than on the night before, and fell asleep earlier, but hehad fixed his mind so resolutely on a waking time at least an hourbefore daylight that he awoke almost at the appointed minute. Then hetiptoed across the cold floor to the thread. Nobody could have heardhim through those solid walls, but the desire for secrecy was so strongthat he unconsciously tiptoed, nevertheless. He pulled the thread, andhe felt at once that something heavy had been fastened to the other end.Then he pulled more slowly. The thread was very slender, and the weightseemed great for so slight a line. If it were to break, the tragedywould be genuinely terrible. He had heard of the sword suspended by asingle hair, and it seemed to him that he was in some such case. But thethread was stronger than John realized--it had been chosen so onpurpose--and it did not break.
As the far end of the thread approached the loophole, he was consciousof a slight metallic ring against the stone wall. His interest grew inintensity. Phil and these unknown friends of his were sending himsomething more than a note. He pulled with exceeding slowness and carenow, lest the metallic object hook against the far edge of the loophole.But it came in safely, slid across the stone, and reached his hand. Itwas a large iron key, with a small piece of paper tied around it. Hetore off the paper, and read, in a handwriting the same as that on thefirst one:
"This is the key to your cell, No. 37, but do not use it. Do not evenput it in the lock until the fourth night from to-night. Then atmidnight, as nearly as you can judge, unlock and go out. Let out thethread for the last time to-morrow night."
John looked at the key and glanced longingly at the lock. He had nodoubt that it would fit. But he obeyed orders and did not try it.Instead he thrust it into the old ragged mattress of his cot. Heresumed his physical exercises the next day, giving an hour to them inthe morning and another hour in the afternoon. They helped, but thebreath of hope was doing more for him, both mind and body, than anythingelse. He felt so strong and active that he did not chaff Diego any morelest the Mexican, stolid and wooden though he was, might suspectsomething.
He let out the thread according to orders, and, at the usual time, drewin a dagger, slender and very light, but long and keen as a razor. Heread readily the purpose of this. There would be much danger when heopened the door to go out, and he must have a weapon. He ran his fingeralong the keen edge and saw that it would be truly formidable at closequarters. Then he hid it in his mattress with the key, wound up thethread, and put it in the same place. All had now come to pass aspromised, and he felt that the remainder would depend greatly uponhimself. So he settled down as best he could to three days and nightsof almost intolerable waiting. Dull and heavy as the time was, andsurely every second was a minute, many fears also came with it. Theymight take it into their heads to change that ragged old mattress ofhis, and then the knife, the thread, and the key would be found. Hewould dismiss such apprehensions with the power of reason, but the powerof fear would bring them back again. Too much now depended upon hisfreedom from examination and search to allow of a calm mind.
Yet time passed, no matter how slow, and he was helped greatly by hisphysical exercises, which gave him occupation, besides preparing him foran expected ordeal. Hope, too, was doing its great work. He couldfairly feel the strength flowing back into his veins, and his nervesbecoming tougher and more supple. Every night he looked out at themountain slope and itemized his little garden there that he had nevertouched, shrub by shrub, stone by stone, not forgetting the greatcactus. He told himself that he did not expect to see any light thereagain, because the unknown sender of messages had not spoken of another,but, deep down at the bottom of his heart, he was hoping to behold thetorch once more, and he felt disappointment when it did not appear.
He tried to imagine how Phil looked. He knew that he must be a great,strong boy, as big as a man. He knew that his spirit was bold andenterprising, yet he must have had uncommon skill and fortune to havepenetrated so deep into Mexico, and to preserve a hiding-place so nearto the great Castle of Montevideo. And the friends with him must bemolded of the finest steel. Who were they? He recalled daring andadventurous spirits among his own comrades in the fatal expedition, butas he ran over every one in his mind he shook his head. It could notbe.
It is the truth that, during all this period, inflicting such atremendous strain upon the captive, John never once tried the key in thedoor. It was the supreme test of his character, of his restraint, ofhis power of will, and he passed it successfully. The thread, thedagger, and the key lay together untouched in the bottom of the oldmattress, and he waited in all the outward seeming of patience.
The first night was very clear, on the second it rained for six or sevenhours. The entire mountainside was veiled in sheets of water or vapor,and John saw nothing beyond his window but the black blur. The thirdnight was clear, but when the morning of the fourth day dawned, Johnthought, from the clouds that were floating along the mountain slope, itwould be rainy again. He hoped that the promise would come true.Darkness and rain favor an escaping prisoner.
The last day was the most terrible of all. Now and then he found hisheart pounding as if it would rack itself to pieces. It was difficultto go through with the exercises, and it was still more difficult topreserve calmness of manner in the presence of Diego. Yet he did both.Moreover, his natural steadiness seemed to come back to h
Diego brought him his supper early, and then, through his loophole, hewatched the twilight deepen into the night. And with the night came therain that the morning and afternoon clouds had predicted. It was a coldrain, driven by a wind that shrieked down the valley, and drops of it,hurled like shot the full width of the slit, struck John in the face.But he liked the cool sharp touch, and he felt sure that the rain wouldcontinue all through the night. So much the better.
John's clothing was old and ragged, and he wore a pair of heellessMexican shoes. He had no hat or cap. But a prisoner of three lonelyyears seeking to escape was not likely to think of such things.
He waited patiently through these last hours. He was compelled to judgefor himself when midnight had come, but he believed that he had made aclose calculation. Then he took a final look through the loophole. Thewind, with a mighty groaning and shrieking, was still driving the raindown the slopes, and nothing was visible. Then, with a firm hand, hetook from the bed the thread, the knife, and the key. It was not likelythat he would have any further use for the thread, but for the sake ofprecaution he put it in his pocket. He also slipped the dagger into theback of his coat at the neck, after a southwestern fashion which alloweda man to draw and strike with a single motion.
Then, key in hand, he boldly approached the door. Some throbbings ofdoubt appeared, but he sternly repressed them. Giving himself no timefor hesitation, he put the key in the lock and turned his hand towardthe right. The key, without any creaking or scraping, turned with it.His heart gave a great leap. He did not know until now that he hadreally doubted. His joy at the fact showed it. But the miracles werecoming true, one after another.
He turned the key around the proper distance, and he heard the heavybolt slide back. He knew that he would have nothing to do now but pullon the door, yet he paused a few moments as one lingers over a greatpleasure, in order to make it greater. He pulled, and the door cameback with the same familiar slight creak that he had heard it make sooften when Diego entered or left. With an involuntary gesture of onehand, he bade farewell to his cell and stepped into the long, darkcorridor upon which the row of cells opened. But for the sake ofprecaution he locked the cell door again and put the key in his pocket.
Then he drew the slender dagger, clutched it firmly in his right hand,and stepped softly back against the wall, which was in heavy shadow, nolight entering it from the narrow barred window at either end. John'sheart beat painfully, but he did not believe that the miracles whichwere being done in his behalf had yet ended. With his back still towardthe wall, and his hand on the hilt of the dagger, he slipped soundlesslyalong for a few feet. His eyes, growing used to the darkness, made outthe posts at the head of a stairway.
Evidently this was the way he should go, and he paused again. Then hisblood slowly chilled within him. A human figure was standing beside oneof the posts. He saw it distinctly. It was the figure of a tall man ina long black serape, with a dark handkerchief tied around mouth and chinafter the frequent Mexican fashion, and a great sombrero which nearlymet the handkerchief. He could see nothing but the narrowest strip ofdark face, and in the dusk the man rose to the size of a giant. He wastruly a formidable figure to one who had been three years a captive, toone who was armed only with a slender knife.
But the crisis in John Bedford's life was so great that he advancedstraight toward the ominous presence in his path. The man said nothing,but John felt as he approached that the stranger was regarding himsteadily. Moreover, he made no motion to draw a weapon. John saw nowthat one of his hands rested on the post at the stairhead, and the otherhung straight down by his side. Surely this was not the attitude of afoe! Perhaps here was merely another in the chain of miracles that hadbegun to work in his behalf. He advanced a step or two nearer, and thestranger was yet motionless. Another step, and the man spoke in a sharpwhisper:
"You are John Bedford?"
"I am," replied John.
"I've been waiting for you. Come. But first take this."
He drew a double-barreled pistol from his pocket and handed it to John,who did as he was told. The stranger then produced from under hiscapacious serape another serape and a Mexican hat, which John, actingunder his instructions, also put on.
"Now," said the man, "follow me, and do what I do or what I tell you.
"It is the midnight hour, They wait us at the gate. May Heaven its favors pour, Then easy is our fate.
You seem to be a brave fellow like your brother; then now is the time toshow your courage, and remember, also, that I can do all the talking forboth of us. Talking is my great specialty."
It seemed to John that the stranger spoke in an odd manner, but he likedthe sound of his voice, which was at once strong and kind. Why shouldhe not like a man who had come through every imaginable danger to savehim from a living death!
"My brother?" whispered John in his eagerness. "Is he still near?"
"I told you I was to do all the talking," replied the man. "You justfollow and step as lightly as you can."
John obeyed, and, after a descent of a few steps, they came to one ofthe heavy wooden doors, twelve feet high, but the stranger unlocked itwith a key taken from the folds of that invaluable Mexican garment, theserape.
"You didn't think I'd come on such a trip as this without making fullpreparations?" said the man with a slight humorous inflection. Then headded: "You're just a plain, common Mexican, some servant or other,employed about the castle, and you continue to slouch along behind me,who may be an officer for all one knows in this darkness. But firstpush with me on this door. Push hard and push slowly."
The heavy door moved back a foot or two, but that was all the strangerwanted. He slipped through the opening, and John came after him. Thenthe man closed and locked the door again.
"A wise burglar leaves no trail behind him," he said, "and, although itis too dark for me to see you very well, I want to tell you, Sir John ofthe Cell, that your figure and walk remind me a great deal of yourbrother, Sir Philip of the Mountain, the River, and the Plain, asgallant a lad as one may meet in many a long day."
A question, a half dozen of them leaped to John's lips, but, rememberinghis orders, he checked them all there.
"Ah, I see," said the stranger. "That would certainly tempt any man toask questions, but, remembering what I told you, you did not ask them.You are of the true metal.
"Though in prison he lay, His spirit was strong, He sought a better day, And now it's come along.
At least it's a better night, which, for the uses of poetry, is the sameas day. This stairway, John, leads into the great inner court, and thenour troubles begin, although we ought to return thanks all the rest ofour days for the rain and the heavy darkness. The Mexican officers willsee no reason why they shouldn't remain under shelter, and the Mexicansoldiers, in this case, will be glad enough to do as their officers do."
John now followed his guide with absolute faith. The man spoke morequeerly than anybody else that he had ever heard, but everything that hedid or said inspired confidence.
They came to the bottom of the stairway and reached the great pavedcentral court, with the buildings of the officers scattered here andthere. They stepped into the court, and John fairly shrank withinhimself when the cold rain lashed into his face. He did not know untilthen how three years within massive walls had softened and weakened him.But he held himself erect and tautened his nerves, resolved that hiscomrade should not see that he had shivered.
They saw lights shining from the windows of some of the low buildings,but no human being was visible within the square.
"They've all sought cover," said his rescuer, "and now is our bestchance to get through one of
John drew the serape about his thin body. It was useful for otherthings than disguise. Without it the cold would have struck him to thebone. His rescuer led the way across the court until they came to oneof the great gates in the wall. The sentinel then was pacing back andforth, his musket on his shoulder, and at intervals he called:"Sentinela alerte!" that his comrades at other gates might hear, and outof the wind and rain came at intervals, though faintly, the respondingcry, "Sentinela alerte!" John and the stranger were almost upon thisman when the cry "Sentinela alerte!" came from the next gate. He turnedquickly as the two dark figures emerged from the darker gloom, but thestranger, with extraordinary dexterity, threw his serape over his face,checking any cry, while his powerful hands choked him intoinsensibility. At the same time the stranger uttered the answering cry,"Sentinela alerte!"
"You haven't killed him?" exclaimed John, aghast, as his rescuer let theMexican slide to the wet earth.
"Not at all," replied this resourceful man. "The cold rain will bringhim back to his senses in five minutes and in ten minutes he will be aswell as ever, but in ten minutes we should play our hand, if we everplay it."
He drew an enormous key from the pocket of the Mexican, unlocked thegate, and, after they had passed out, locked it behind them. Then theystood on the edge of the great moat, two hundred feet wide, twenty feetdeep and bank full. The man dropped the key into the water.
"Now, Sir John of the Escape," he said, "the drawbridge is up, and if itwere down it would be too well guarded for us to pass. We must swim. Idon't know how strong you are after a long life in prison, but swim youmust. Life is dear, and I think you'll swim. We'll take off most ofour clothes and tie them with our weapons on our heads. What a wildnight! But how good it is for us!"
Crouching in the shadow of the wall they took off most of their clothes,and then each tied them in a package containing his weapons, also, onhis head. They were secured with strips torn from John's rags.Meanwhile, the night was increasing in wildness. John would have viewedit with awe, had not his escape absorbed every thought. The windgroaned through the gorges of the great Sierra, and the cold rain lashedlike a whip. The rumblings of thunder came from far and deep valleysbetween the ridges.
"Now," said the man, "we'll drop into the moat together. But letyourself down by your hands as gently as you can, and make no splashwhen you strike. Now, over we go!"
The two dropped into the water, taking care not to go under, and thenbegan to swim toward the far edge of the moat. John had been a goodswimmer, but the water was very cold to his thin body. Nevertheless, heswam with a fairly steady stroke, until they were about half-way across,when he felt cramps creeping over him. But the stranger, who kept closeby his side, had been watching, and he put one hand under John's body.In water the light support became a strong one, and now John swameasily.
They reached the far edge and climbed up on the wall. Here John lay alittle while, gasping, while the stranger, who now seemed a very god tohim, rubbed his cold body to bring back the warmth. From a point downthe bank came the cry "Sentinela alerte!" and from a point in the otherdirection came the answering cry, "Sentinela alerte!"
"Lie flat," whispered his rescuer to John, "and we'll wriggle acrossfifty feet of ground here until we come to a wooden wall. We're lost ifwe stand up, because I think lightning is coming with that thunder."
He spoke with knowledge, as the thunder suddenly grew louder and the airaround them was tinted with phosphorescent light. It was not a flare oflightning, merely its distant reflection, but it was enough to havedisclosed them, if they had been standing, to any one ten paces distant.The danger itself gave them new strength, and they quickly crossed theground to the _chevaux de frise_, where they crouched against the tallcedar posts. They lay almost flat upon the ground, and they were veryglad of the shelter, because the lightning was coming nearer. Now, whenthe lightning flashed along the mountain slopes, they saw not far awaythe dim figure of a soldier, and they heard distinctly his cry:"Sentinela alerte!"
"Wait until he goes back," whispered the stranger. "Then we must climbthe wall and climb it quickly. It's fastened with cross timbers whichwill give us hold for both hand and foot."
The lightning tinted the sky once more with its phosphorescent gleam,and they did not see the soldier.
"Now for it!" said the man in a sharp, commanding whisper. "Up with youand over the wall!"
John seized the crosspiece, and in another instant was on the top of awall of cedar posts twelve feet high. He did not know until afterwardthat the strong hand of his rescuer had helped him up. In anotherinstant the man was beside him, and then the lightning flared brightly,showing vividly the huge castle, the stone ramparts, the moats and thetwo figures, naked to the waist, sitting on top of the cedar wall.
"Sentinela alerte!" was shouted far louder than usual, and "Sentinelaalerte!" came the reply in the same tone. Two musket shots were fired,and the two figures, one with a red stain on his side, sprang outwardfrom the cedar fence into the second and smaller moat, which was onlyfourteen feet wide, although its outer wall was an earthwork rising veryhigh above the water. Two or three strong strokes carried them across,and with desperate efforts they climbed up the high bank. They heardshouts, and they knew that when the lightning flared again more shotswould be fired at them. It was then that John noticed the red stain onthe side of his comrade, and all the reserves of mental strength thatmade him so much like his brother, Philip, came to his aid. He snatchedthe package from his head, tore it apart, threw the serape around hisbody and stood up, erect and defiant, pistol in hand. He would dosomething for this man who had done so much for him.
The lightning flared again, a long quivering stroke, and the heads ofhalf a dozen men appeared at the crest of the _chevaux de frise_, nottwenty feet away. But John Bedford looked at only one of them. He sawthe swarthy, angry face of de Armijo. He seemed to be beckoning withhis sword to his men, but a flash like that of the lightning searedJohn's whole brain. He remembered how this man had struck him down,when he was chained and helpless, and he fired point blank at the angryface. De Armijo fell back with a terrible cry. He was not dead, but thebullet had plowed full length across his cheek, and he would bear therea terrible red weal all the rest of his life.
The lightning passed, and they were in complete darkness, but John felta hand on his arm.
"Come," whispered his rescuer. "You did that well. Prison hasn't takenany of the manhood from you. We're outside everything now, and theothers are waiting for us."
They fled away together in the darkness.