During all this time shots were ringing over me. I could hear the shouts and cheering of men, the trampling of heavy hoofs, and the clashing of sabres. I knew that some strange deliverance had reached us. I knew that a skirmish was going on above me, but I could see nothing. I was below the level of the cliff.

I lay in a terrible suspense, listening. I dared not change my posture—I dared not move. The weight of the Jarocho’s body had hitherto held my feet securely in the notch; but that was gone, and my ankles were still tied. A movement and my legs might fall off the limb and drag me downward. I was faint, too, from the protracted struggle for life and death, and I hugged the tree and held on like a wounded squirrel.

The shots seemed less frequent, the shouts appeared to recede from the cliffs. Then I heard a cheer—an Anglo-Saxon cheer—an American cheer, and the next moment a well-known voice rang in my ears.

“By the livin’ catamount, he’s hyur yit! Whooray—whoop! Niver say die! Hold on, Cap’n, teeth an’ toenail! Hyur, boys! clutch on, a lot o’ yer! Quick!—hook my claws, Nat! Now pull—all thegether!—Hooray!”

I felt a strong hand grasping the collar of my coat, and the next moment I was raised from my perch and landed upon the top of the cliff.

I looked around upon my deliverers. Lincoln was dancing like a lunatic, uttering his wild, half-Indian yells. A dozen men, in the dark-green uniform of the “mounted rifles”, stood looking on and laughing at this grotesque exhibition. Close by another party were guarding some prisoners, while a hundred others were seen in scattered groups along the ridge, returning from the pursuit of the Jarochos, whom they had completely routed.

I recognised Twing, and Hennessy, and Hillis, and several other officers whom I had met before. We were soon en rapport, and I could not have received a greater variety of congratulations had it been the hour after my wedding.

Little Jack was the guide of the rescue.

After a moment spent in explanation with the major, I turned to look for Lincoln. He was standing close by, holding in his hands a piece of lazo, which he appeared to examine with a strange and puzzled expression. He had recovered from his burst of wild joy and was “himself again.”

“What’s the matter, Bob?” I inquired, noticing his bewildered look.

“Why, Cap’n, I’m a sorter bamfoozled yeer. I kin understan’ well enuf how the feller; irked yer inter the tree afore he let go. But how did this hyur whang kum cuf? An’ whar’s the other eend?”

I saw that he held in his hand the noose of the lazo which he had taken from my ankles, and I explained the mystery of how it had “kum cut”. This seemed to raise me still higher in the hunter’s esteem. Turning to one of the riflemen, an old hunter like himself, he whispered—I overheard him:

“I’ll tell yer what it is, Nat: he kin whip his weight in wild-cats or grizzly b’ars any day in the year—he kin, or my name ain’t Bob Linkin.”

Saying this, he stepped forward on the cliff and looked over; and then he examined the tree, and then the piece of lazo, and then the tree again, and then he commenced dropping pebbles down, as if he was determined to measure every object, and fix it in his memory with a proper distinctness.

Twing and the others had now dismounted. As I turned towards them Clayley was taking a pull at the major’s pewter—and a good long pull, too. I followed the lieutenant’s example, and felt the better for it.

“But how did you find us, Major?”

“This little soldier,” said he, pointing to Jack, “brought us to the rancho where you were taken. From there we easily tracked you to a large hacienda.”

“Ha! you routed the guerilla, then?”

“Routed the guerilla! We saw no guerilla.”

“What! at the hacienda?”

“Peons and women; nothing more. Yes, there was, too—what am I thinking about? There was a party there that routed us; Thornley and Hillis here have both been wounded, and are not likely to recover—poor fellows!”

I looked towards these gentlemen for an explanation. They were both laughing, and I looked in vain.

“Hennessy, too,” said the major, “has got a stab under the ribs.”

“Och, by my soul have I, and no mistake!” cried the latter.

“Come, Major—an explanation, if you please.”

I was in no humour to enjoy this joke. I half divined the cause of their mirth, and it produced in me an unaccountable feeling of annoyance, not to say pain.

“Be my faith, then, Captain,” said Hennessy, speaking for the major, “if ye must know all about it, I’ll tell ye ............