the mayor-domo, with an eye to superintendence of everything; while Don Estevan, his wife, and daughter, have strolled out along the lake’s edge to enjoy the refreshing breeze wafted over its water. The three promenaders have but made one turn along the sandy shore, and back again, when they hear a cry which not only alarms them, but all within and around the camp —
“Los Indios!”
It has been sent from above – from the head of the ravine; and everybody looks up – all eyes raised simultaneously. To see two men standing on a projecting point of rock, their figures sharply outlined against the blue background of sky; at the same time to recognise them as the gambusino and Henry Tresillian. Only for an instant are these at a stand; only to shout down those terrible words of warning; then both bound into the gorge, and come on at a rush, with risk of breaking their necks.
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