“Now Carreras, under the guise¹ of politics and liberalism, was a scoundrel of the deepest dye, and the unhappy state of Mendoza was the prey² of thieves, robbers, traitors³ and murderers, who formed his party. He was under a noble exterior⁴ a man without heart, pity, honour, or conscience. Tie aspired⁵ to nothing but tyranny, and though he would have made use of Gaspar Ruiz for his nefarious⁶ designs, yet he soon became aware that to propitiate⁷ the Chilian Government would answer his purpose better. I blush to say that he made proposals to our Government to deliver up on certain conditions the wife and child of the man who had trusted to his honour, and that this offer was accepted.  
“While on her way to Mendoza over the Pequena pass she was betrayed by her escort of Carreras’ men, and given up to the officer in command of a Chilian fort on the upland at the foot of the main Cordillera range. This atrocious transaction might have cost me dear, for as a matter of fact I was a prisoner in Gaspar Ruiz’ camp when he received the news. I had been captured during a reconnaissance, my escort of a few troopers being speared by the Indians of his bodyguard⁸. I was saved from the same fate because he recognised my features just in time. No doubt my friends thought I was dead, and I would not have given much for my life at any time. But the strong man treated me very well, because, he said, I had always believed in his innocence⁹ and had tried to serve him when he was a victim of injustice¹⁰.
 
“‘And now,’ was his speech to me, ‘you shall see that I always speak the truth. You are safe.’
 
“I did not think I was very safe when I was called up to go to him one night. He paced up and down like a wild beast, exclaiming, ‘Betrayed! Betrayed!’
 
“He walked up to me clenching¹¹ his fists. ‘I could cut your throat.’
 
“‘Will that give your wife back to you?’ I said as quietly as I could.
 
“‘And the child!’ he yelled out, as if mad. He fell into a chair and laughed in a frightful¹², boisterous¹³ manner. ‘Oh, no, you are safe.’
 
“I assured him that his wife’s life was safe too; but I did not say what I was convinced of—that he would never see her again. He wanted war to the death, and the war could only end with his death.
 
“He gave me a strange, inexplicable¹⁴ look, and sat muttering blankly. ‘In their hands. In their hands.’
 
“I kept as still as a mouse before a cat. Suddenly he jumped up. ‘What am I doing here?’ he cried; and opening the door, he yelled out orders to saddle and mount. ‘What is it?’ he stammered¹⁵, coming up to me. ‘The Pequena fort; a fort of palisades! Nothing. I would get her back if she were hidden in the very heart of 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 parley¹⁶, and any other messenger from Ruiz, the outlaw¹⁷, would have his throat cut.’
 
“This was true enough. Between him and the rest of incensed¹⁸ mankind there could be no communication, according to the customs of honour-able warfare¹⁹.
 
“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 warriors²⁰ 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 perpendicular²¹ wall of basalt wound itself around a buttressing²² rock, and at last we emerged from the gloom of a deep gorge²³ 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 crevices²⁴ of the great walls of rock. The little lake was as round as a staring eye. The garrison²⁵ of the fort were just driving in their small herd²⁶ of cattle when we appeared. Then the great wooden gates swung to, and that four-square enclosure of broad blackened stakes pointed²⁷ at the top and barely hiding the grass roofs of the huts inside, seemed deserted²⁸, 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 vestiges²⁹ 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 astonishment³⁰ 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 reins³¹ fall out of my hand and shook my head. ‘I am on my honour,’ I cried.
 
“‘To him!’ he shouted, with infinite disgust.’
 
“‘He promises you your life.’
 
“‘Our life is our own. And do you, Santierra, advise us to surrender to that rastrero?’
 
“‘No!’ I shouted. ‘But he wants his wife and child, and he can cut you off from water.’
 
“‘Then she would be the first to suffer. You may tell him that. Look here—this is all nonsense: we shall dash out and capture you.
 
“‘You shall not catch me alive,’ I said firmly.
 
“‘Imbecile!’
 
“‘For God’s sake,’ I continued hastily, ‘do not open the gate.’ And I pointed at the multitude of Peneleo’s Indians who covered the shores of the lake.
 
“I had never seen so many of these savages³² together. Their lances seemed as numerous as stalks of grass. Their hoarse³⁴ voices made a vast, inarticulate sound like the murmur³⁵ of the sea.
 
“My friend Pajol was swearing to himself. ‘Well, then—go to the devil!’ he shouted, exasperated³⁶. But as I swung round he repented³⁷, for I heard him say hurriedly, ‘Shoot the fool’s horse before he gets away.
 
“He had good marksmen. Two shots rang out, and in the very act of turning my horse staggered, fell and lay still as if struck by lightning. I had my feet out of the stirrups and rolled clear of him; but I did not attempt to rise. Neither dared they rush out to drag me in.
 
“The masses of Indians had begun to move upon the fort. They rode up in squadrons, trailing their long chusos; then dismounted out of musket-shot, and, throwing off their fur mantles³⁹, advanced naked to the attack, stamping their feet and shouting in cadence⁴⁰. A sheet of flame ran three times along the face of the fort without checking their steady march. They crowded right up to the very stakes, flourishing their broad knives. But this palisade was not fastened together with hide lashings in the usual way, but with long iron nails, which they could not cut. Dismayed at the failure of their usual method of forcing an entrance, the heathen, who had marched so steadily⁴¹ against the musketry fire, broke and fled under the volleys of the besieged⁴².
 
“Directly they had passed me on their advance I got up and rejoined Gaspar Ruiz on a low ridge⁴³ which jutted⁴⁴ out upon the plain. The musketry of his own men had covered the attack, but now at a sign from him a trumpet⁴⁵ sounded the ‘Cease fire.’ Together we looked in silence at the hopeless rout⁴⁶ of the savages.
 
“‘It must be a siege, then,’ he muttered. And I detected him wringing⁴⁷ his hands stealthily.
 
“But what sort of siege could it be? Without any need for me to repeat my friend Pajol’s message, he dared not cut the water off from the besieged. They had plenty of meat. And, indeed, if they had been short, he would have been too anxious to send food into the stockade⁴⁸ had he been able. But, as a matter of fact, it was we on the plain who were beginning to feel the pinch of hunger.
 
“Peneleo, the Indian chief, sat by our fire folded in his ample mantle³⁸ of guanaco skins. He was an athletic⁴⁹ savage³³, with an enormous square shock head of hair resembling a straw beehive in shape and size, and with grave, surly, much-lined features. In his broken Spanish he repeated, growling⁵⁰ like a bad-tempered⁵¹ wild beast, that if an opening ever so small were made in the stockade his men would march in and get the senora—not otherwise.
 
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